THE  MANSE  AT  BARREN  ROCKS 

ALBERT  BENJAMIN  CUNNINGHAM 


THE  MANSE  AT 
BARREN  ROCKS 


BY 

ALBERT  BENJAMIN  CUNNINGHAM 


NEW  HIPJPYORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  MANSE  AT  BARREN  ROCKS 


2134882 


Prologue 

x 

WEST  VIRGINIA!  What  that  name  calls  up!  In 
the  early  days  but  an  extremity  of  a  great  com- 
monwealth, in  the  mighty  upheaval  it  was  separated  and 
became  an  independent  state. 

For  long  after  the  separation,  it  remained  a  country 
of  narrow  valleys  and  forbidding  hills,  little  sought  after 
and  little  desired.  But  when  its  timber  found  ready 
market,  when  the  hidden  lakes  of  oil  were  discovered  and 
the  long  rich  veins  of  coal  were  found,  it  became  the 
point  of  interest  for  a  type  of  keen  and  calculating  mind. 
The  promoter,  the  money-getters,  hordes  of  self-seekers, 
invaded  its  territory,  laid  low  the  mighty  trees  and  disem- 
bowled  the  hills.  It  became  a  workshop,  grimy,  black, 
outraged.  On  the  mountains  the  whine  of  the  mills; 
in  the  valleys  the  clatter  of  drills,  and  everywhere  the 
dust  from  the  coal.  . 

But  West  Virginia's  sons  know  her  as  a  different  land. 
To  them  she  is  not  befouled  by  the  commercial  age. 
They  know  her  as  a  land  of  peace,  a  land  where  blue 
rivers  serenely  flow  between  the  fragrant  hills  to  make 
the  valleys  green.  To  them  she  is  ever  the  same :  white 
mists  hanging  over  the  waters,  straight  trees  unblack- 
ened  by  smoke,  shoals  murmuring  over  rounded  peb- 
bles, the  after-glow  shot  myriad  fingered  into  the  sky, 
the  path  of  the  moon  on  the  waters !  She  is  the  land  of 
dreams  and  of  laughter  and  of  love. 

Down  near  the  centre  of  West  Virginia,  where  the 

7 


8  Prologue 

railroad  has  not  yet  reached  nor  the  appraising  eye  esti- 
mated the  natural  values,  just  up  beyond  the  second  range 
of  hills,  is  the  little  village  of  Barren  Rocks.  It  is  a 
quaint,  quiet  little  place  of  a  dozen  houses  or  so,  nestled  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountains.  During  the  warm  summer, 
the  creeks  go  dry,  and  even  the  river  is  rift  with  white 
sand  bars;  here  the  sand  briers  grow  low  and  prickly, 
and  off  in  the  valley  and  on  the  mountain  side  the  bees 
drone  monotonously  on  the  wild  flowers.  The  boys  go 
barefoot,  the  men  go  about  their  work  with  genial  lazi- 
ness, and  the  women  rule  the  home  with  calm-eyed 
serenity.  Small  gardens  surround  the  houses,  and  the 
hillsides  are  ploughed  with  the  shovel  plough,  planted  in 
corn  and  hoed  by  hand. 

But  in  the  winter  time  the  habits  change.  The  sun 
grows  cold  and  distant,  and  Winter  soughs  among  the 
hills  her  old  and  plaintive  cry.  Great  trees  are  cut  down 
with  an  axe  for  fire  wood,  and  the  broad  fireplace  built 
of  natural  stone  supplies  warmth,  a  place  for  roasting 
chestnuts,  and  light  for  the  evening  lessons.  Neigh- 
bours gather  for  checkers,  quiltings  and  the  Virginia 
reel!  Spelling  matches  draw  the  neighbourhood  to  the 
schoolhouse,  trapping  and  fox  hunting  lure  the  men  to 
the  open,  and  the  mountains  along  the  river  echo  with 
the  gay  laughter  of  the  skater. 

It  is  the  free  simple  life  of  the  hills. 

In  days  not  so  long  gone  by,  nestling  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  where  Little  Creek  flows  sturdily  out  into  Elk 
river,  was  the  old  Baptist  Manse.  It  was  built  of  broad 
oak  planks,  unpainted  and  unplaned,  boarded  up  and 
down.  The  cracks  where  they  came  together  were  cleated 
over  with  narrow  strips  of  weather-boarding,  also  up 
and  down.  The  roof  was  of  clapboards,  and  in  many 
places  where  they  were  frayed  and  rotting,  tiny  specks 
of  moss  had  put  in  appearance.  Inside  was  the  living 


Prologue  9 

room,  and  in  it  the  great  fireplace;  opening  off  the  liv- 
ing room,  two  bedrooms,  and  at  the  back  the  kitchen,  a 
lean-to,  long  and  low  of  ceiling.  Outside,  the  yard  was 
green  with  grass  and  plantain;  in  one  corner  was  the 
great  chestnut  tree;  while  beyond  the  paling  gate  and 
the  narrow  road,  Elk  river  flowed  blue  and  serene. 

In  this  old  Manse  lived  Peter  Rhodes,  strong  of 
body,  clear  of  eye,  a  great  horseman,  an  infallible  shot 
with  the  long  rifle,  big  of  heart  and  full  of  human  sym- 
pathy. Affectionately  he  was  called  the  Parson  by  the 
people  round  about.  And  then,  Anne  Rhodes,  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Manse,  frail,  delicate,  sweet- voiced ;  and 
the  children,  Henry,  Margaret,  Ben  and  Little  Anne — 
and  this  is  the  story  of  Ben. 


THE  MANSE  AT  BARREN 
ROCKS 

Chapter  i 

AT  first  it  was  not  so  bad.  A  great  yellow  dog,  its 
toes  flaring  wide  as  it  forged  stubbornly  on,  its 
tongue  out  and  lips  slithering  foam,  had  gone  up  the 
road  past  our  house.  Up  by  the  store,  Grouchie  Mc- 
Rand's  dog  had  attempted  to  block  his  way,  only  to  have 
its  nose  and  lips  slit  wide  by  his  terrible  teeth. 

That  was  about  all  there  was  to  it  at  first.  A  few 
loungers  at  the  store  had  noticed  the  dog,  but  they  paid 
little  attention  to  him  at  the  time.  It  was  only  later  that 
they  remembered  that  he  had  hardly  swerved  from  the 
centre  of  the  road,  that  his  eyes  were  glazed  and  terri- 
ble, and  that  after  biting  Grouchie's  dog,  he  had  kept 
on  up  the  lonely  path  that  led  into  the  sombre  hills  be- 
yond. 

But  we  were  soon  to  find  out  that  it  had  been  no  com- 
monplace thing.  The  next  afternoon,  as  Essie  Evans 
and  I  were  playing  down  in  the  road,  two  men  stopped 
at  our  gate.  They  both  carried  rifles,  and  looked  as  if 
they  had  travelled  far.  Father  went  out  to  talk  to  them, 
and  leaving  Essie  in  the  road,  I  went  up  to  them  also. 

"Seen  anything  of  a  big  yaller  dog  go  by  here?"  one 
asked. 

ii 


12  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"No,  I  think  not,"  father  answered.     "Lost  one?" 

"Mad  dog.  Been  on  the  road  for  days,  and  bitin' 
everything  he  sees." 

While  the  one  man  talked  to  father,  the  other  stood 
near  by.  His  gun  stock  rested  on  the  ground,  and  he 
was  leaning  easily  on  it.  Suddenly  he  stood  up,  rigidly 
erect,  and  gazed  sharply  up  the  road.  I  followed  his 
gaze,  and  saw,  up  beyond  Essie,  and  bearing  swiftly 
down  on  us,  the  unmistakable  form  of  a  great  yellow 
dog. 

"God !  Tom,  there  he  comes  now,"  cried  the  man,  ter- 
ror in  his  voice. 

Father  and  the  man  called  Tom  whirled  quickly  about 
and  looked  up  the  road.  In  some  way  the  dog  had 
turned  about,  and  was  doubling  on  his  course  of  the 
day  before.  He  was  coming  straight  towards  us.  With 
long  loping  gait,  swinging  his  head  from  side  to  side 
and  snapping  as  he  ran,  yet  seemingly  heedless  of  all  he 
passed,  he  came  swiftly  on.  There  was  something  so 
wild,  so  terrible  in  the  looks  of  him,  that  for  a  moment 
we  all  stood  as  if  petrified.  Father  was  the  first  to  re- 
cover. 

"Good  Lord,  and  the  child  is  right  in  his  path,"  he 
cried. 

I  was  simply  beside  myself  with  fear,  and  the  sight  of 
Essie  right  in  his  path  made  it  all  the  worse.  I  just 
shrieked  at  her. 

"Essie!    Come  here  quick." 

Perhaps  if  I  had  spoken  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  just 
as  if  nothing  were  wrong,  she  would  have  come.  But 
it  was  one  of  my  old  tricks  to  try  to  fool  her  by  calling 
as  if  something  awful  were  about  to  happen,  and  then 
when  she  ran  up  scared  and  breathless,  to  yell  "fooled" 
at  her.  She  evidently  thought  that  was  what  I  was 
trying  to  do  now,  for  she  made  no  move  to  come. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  13 

"There's  a  mad  dog  coming,"  I  said  again,  but  she  was 
unimpressed. 

"Ain't  neither,"  and  she  turned  her  little  nose  up  at 
me. 

But  father  did  not  wait  to  parley.  The  great  yellow 
dog  was  coming  straight  toward  us,  and  there  was  no 
time  to  lose. 

"Come,  Essie,"  he  cried,  running  toward  her. 

"No  danger,  Parson,"  Tom  spoke  up  reassuringly. 
"When  he  gets  a  step  nearer  I'll  fetch  him  down,"  and 
he  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder. 

But  father  took  no  chances.  Quickly  covering  the 
distance,  he  snatched  Essie  up  and  hurried  back.  Even 
before  he  had  reached  us,  there  was  the  sharp  report  of 
a  rifle. 

I  expected  to  see  the  dog  fall  over,  for  I  knew  how 
those  muzzle-loading  rifles  could  be  loaded  to  shoot.  But 
he  made  no  sign  that  he  had  been  hit.  Unswerving  he 
came  on.  Another  shot,  and  this  time  a  slight  whine. 

He  was  near  us  now,  very  near,  and  he  did  not  seem 
badly  hurt.  Both  guns  were  empty.  Our  rifle  was  too 
far  away  to  be  of  any  advantage.  Things  were  begin- 
ning to  look  serious. 

"Get  something!  Get  something  and  hold  him  off 
while  I  reload,"  Tom  cried,  his  fingers  shaking  as  he  at- 
tempted to  pour  the  charge  of  powder  into  the  muzzle 
of  his  gun. 

There  was  a  heavy  oak  bar  lying  near  the  gate.  Father 
seized  it  and  lifted  it  high.  I  could  have  screamed  with 
terror,  for  I  was  sure  he  would  be  bitten.  But  he  stood 
out  well  to  the  centre  of  the  road,  and  as  the  great  dog 
came  within  reach,  the  heavy  bar  descended  with  terri- 
fic force.  With  another  slight  whine,  he  fell  over,  and 
after  a  few  convulsions  was  dead. 

To  this  story  of  his  death,  there  were  soon  added 


14  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

others  of  what  had  been  done  before  his  savage  rampage 
was  ended.  He  had  bitten  cats,  dogs,  even  horses — 
and  somebody,  but  we  could  not  find  out  who  it  was.  It 
was  not  long  before  the  mad  dog  scare  was  almost  an 
epidemic,  and  I  was  afraid  as  I  had  never  been  afraid 
before  in  my  life. 

Grouchie's  dog  was  led  off  and  shot,  and  that  evening 
he  came  down  to  sit  with  me  out  on  the  river  bank.  We 
did  not  say  much,  but  now  and  then  he  would  look  down 
beyond  the  mouth  of  Little  Creek,  and  I  knew  what  he 
was  thinking  about.  They  had  buried  Rover  down  that 
way. 

I  didn't  say  so,  because  I  thought  it  would  not  be 
just  the  thing,  but  I  was  mighty  glad  old  Bounce  had 
not  been  bitten.  He  was  my  dog,  and  he  was  big  and 
lean  and  scarred.  His  muscles  were  hard  and  he  was 
a  great  fighter.  I  had  raised  him  from  a  little  pup. 
From  the  time  he  was  a  wee  little  thing  with  a  small 
soft  muzzle  and  innocent  playful  eyes,  we  had  been  the 
greatest  friends.  He  soon  grew  big  and  strong  and 
could  whip  any  dog  in  Barren  Rocks,  but  he  never 
snapped  at  me.  I  could  put  my  fingers  in  his  mouth.  I 
had  done  it  many  times.  I  had  even  played  doctor  with 
him,  and  had  let  on  that  I  was  pulling  his  teeth.  He 
didn't  like  it  very  much,  for  he  often  looked  disgusted. 
But  he  never  offered  to  bite.  And  because  he  was  a  great 
fighter  and  was  my  dog  and  wouldn't  bite  me,  I  thought 
he  was  wonderful,  and  was  glad  he  had  not  been  bitten. 

But  it  was  over  three  weeks  after  the  big  yellow  dog 
had  passed  through  Barren  Rocks,  that  something  very 
queer  happened.  It  was  Sunday.  Father  had  gone  to 
the  River  appointment,  and  mother  had  gone  with  him. 
That  meant  that  Margaret  was  keeping  house  over  Sun- 
day for  Hen  and  me.  And  when  Margaret  kept  house 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  15 

for  us,  we  usually  had  a  big  time.  We  were  having  a 
big  time  this  day. 

Several  of  the  boys  and  girls  had  come  down  to  spend 
the  afternoon  with  us,  and  we  were  out  in  the  bottom 
above  our  house  playing  blackman  when  Grouchie  sud- 
denly called  out  excitedly  to  me. 

"Look  at  Bounce,  Ben.     What's  he  doing?" 

I  looked  down  next  to  the  house  and  saw  him.  He 
was  standing  with  his  legs  stiff  and  rigid,  his  eyes  glazed 
and  glassy,  and  snapping  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  were 
lapping  water,  only  he  did  not  stick  out  his  tongue. 

I  ran  down  to  him,  and  called  his  name.  He  did  not 
seem  to  recognise  me.  The  others  had  stopped  playing 
and  circled  round  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 

"He's  mad,"  Ed  Rainey  said  with  conviction. 

Henrietta  McRand  screamed,  and  all  fell  back  a  few 
steps.  I  was  angry.  My  dog  mad?  Of  course  not! 

"Huh !  he's  not  mad.  He  has  something  in  his  throat," 
and  I  went  up  to  him. 

I  ran  my  hand  down  his  back,  and  was  surprised  that 
he  was  so  rigid.  And  underneath  his  skin  the  muscles 
seemed  to  be  twitching  violently. 

"Come,  Bounce,"  I  said  encouragingly,  snapping  my 
fingers  above  his  head. 

"Let  him  alone,  Ben,  and  come  on  down  to  the  house," 
and  Margaret  and  the  other  girls  ran  away.  Some  of  the 
boys  did  too.  I  appealed  to  Hen. 

"Come  here,  Hen.  He  has  something  in  his  throat. 
He's  choked." 

Hen  came  and  bent  over  him. 

"What  you  want  to  do?" 

"You  hold  him  while  I  run  my  finger  down  and  get 
what  he's  choking  on." 

Hen  put  his  hands  on  Bounce's  back,  and  I  held  his 
head.  He  was  still  snapping  viciously,  and  I  had  a  hard 


16  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

time  getting  my  fingers  in  his  mouth.  But  at  last  I 
succeeded,  and  felt  all  around  for  the  bone  I  was  sure 
was  there.  But  I  found  nothing.  Twice,  three  times,  I 
tried  to  find  it,  but  failed  each  time. 

Before  very  long  he  quit  snapping,  and  went  off  to  the 
fence  and  lay  down.  While  we  were  still  talking  about 
him,  word  came  from  Grouchie's  mother  that  hogs  were 
in  their  corn;  and  he  asked  us  to  go  and  help  him  put 
them  out. 

I  jumped  at  the  chance  with  eagerness.  The  razor- 
backs  that  roamed  the  woods  were  forever  getting  into 
the  corn  fields,  and  one  of  my  biggest  tasks  was  to  keep 
our  field  clear  of  them.  In  this  work  I  had  trained  old 
Bounce.  Take  him  to  a  field  and  point  out  a  hog,  and 
he  knew  at  once  what  was  expected  of  him;  and  he 
did  the  job  with  a  thoroughness  that  left  little  to  be 
desired. 

So  calling  to  him  quickly,  Grouchie  and  I  started  up  the 
hill  to  the  corn  field.  Bounce  followed  stupidly.  There 
was  none  of  his  old  dash  about  him.  On  ordinary  occa- 
sions, he  would  have  run  ahead  of  us,  sniffing  eagerly 
for  game,  barking  and  yelping.  But  he  followed  along 
behind,  as  if  too  weary  to  exert  himself.  Once  his  foot 
slipped,  and  he  slid  far  down  the  hill.  I  stopped  to  call 
him  back,  but  Grouchie  went  on. 

"That  dog's  mad,  Ben.  Come  on  and  leave  him 
alone." 

"You'll  see  when  we  get  up  to  the  field,"  I  answered. 

Bounce  did  chase  one  hog  out,  almost  with  all  his  old 
dexterity.  But  when  we  tried  to  get  him  to  chase  an- 
other, he  simply  would  not  do  it.  This  filled  me  with 
greater  alarm  than  anything  else  could  have  done,  for  I 
knew  how  he  had  loved  the  task.  Grouchie  and  I  put 
out  the  rest,  and  then  ran  for  home  as  hard  as  we  could 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  17 

go.  I  myself  had  come  to  believe  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong. 

When  we  got  down,  we  told  Hen  what  had  happened. 
He  got  a  long  stout  rope,  and  when,  a  little  later,  Bounce 
walked  wearily  into  the  yard,  he  tied  one  end  securely 
around  his  neck,  and  the  other  end  to  a  stake  near  the 
corner  of  the  house. 

He  did  not  seem  to  mind  being  tied  up.  He  walked 
slowly  under  the  edge  of  the  house  and  lay  down.  He 
was  still  there  when  we  went  to  bed  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  went  out  to  see  how  he 
was  getting  along.  He  was  not  there.  The  rope  had 
been  gnawed  in  two.  I  called  and  whistled,  but  he  did 
not  come  to  me. 

When  father  and  mother  came  home  that  afternoon, 
we  told  them  all  about  it.  Father  looked  grave. 

"How  did  he  act  when  you  thought  he  was  choking?" 

We  told  him. 

"He  was  in  a  fit,  boys." 

I  shuddered.  To  think  of  putting  my  hand  into  the 
mouth  of  a  mad  dog!  That  evening  he  was  not  back, 
nor  the  next.  Father  made  a  rule. 

"Children,  you  must  not  go  out  of  the  house  after 
dark,  and  even  in  daylight  you  must  not  go  far  away." 

Mother  told  us  what  they  heard  up  at  the  River  ap- 
pointment. The  yellow  dog  had  bitten  many  others,  and 
some  of  them  were  gone.  A  few  had  been  killed,  but 
many  had  got  away  before  their  owners  realised  that 
they  were  mad. 

To  make  the  matter  worse,  it  was  dog  days.  Every 
summer,  along  about  the  middle  of  July,  the  weather 
was  still  and  warm.  The  creek  almost  dried  up,  and 
the  river  was  nearly  stagnant.  We  were  forbidden  to  go 
in  swimming  while  dog  days  lasted,  for  father  said  there 
was  danger. 


18  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

He  told  us  about  dog  days:  told  us  that  at  that  time 
the  dog  star  was  in  conjunction  with  the  sun ;  that  during 
the  period  of  the  dog  days,  sores  would  break  out  easily, 
maladies  were  frequent,  and  dogs  were  liable  to  go 
mad.  The  way  he  talked  about  the  great  Dog  Star 
filled  me  with  superstitious  terror,  and  when  night  would 
shut  us  in,  I  needed  no  commands  to  keep  me  indoors. 

The  third  day  Bounce  had  not  returned,  and  when  I 
went  to  bed  I  was  literally  shaking  with  terror.  I  im- 
agined a  mad  dog  under  the  bed,  and  jumped  so  quickly 
that  a  slat  fell  out  and  clattered  on  the  floor,  frightening 
me  all  the  more.  I  covered  up  my  head,  and  almost  suf- 
focated. 

When  at  last  I  went  to  sleep,  I  dreamed  that  old 
Bounce  had  come  back,  and  that  he  was  not  mad  at  all. 
He  was  out  on  the  river  bank,  lying  there  in  the  moon- 
light. He  was  greatly  hurt  that  he  had  been  tied  up, 
watched  with  suspicion.  I  thought  I  saw  him  there  on 
the  bank,  his  head  on  his  paws,  looking  down  the  river. 
And  I  felt  a  great  pity  for  him,  and  resolved  to  go  out 
where  he  was  and  let  him  know  that  he  had  one  true 
friend. 

Still  in  my  dream,  I  thought  I  got  up  from  the  bed.  I 
tiptoed  quietly  to  the  door  and  peeped  into  the  living 
room.  Father  and  mother  were  asleep.  I  went  cau- 
tiously to  the  front  door  and  lifted  the  latch. 

It  was  beautiful  outside.  The  moon  was  high,  and  its 
soft  light  plashed  gorgeously  against  the  house.  I  walked 
down  the  steps,  and  out  to  the  gate.  Opening  it,  I 
went  out  to  the  river  bank. 

But  here  the  dream  went  a  little  awry.  Bounce  was  not 
there  as  I  had  thought.  I  was  disappointed.  Perhaps 
he  had  gone  away,  and  never  would  return.  I  felt  as 
if  I  should  like  to  cry.  Poor  old  Bounce,  to  be  driven 
from  his  home !  I  felt  I  had  been  a  traitor  to  a  friend. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  19 

And  then  something  happened.  With  a  rush  my  facul- 
ties awoke.  I  was  chilly;  my  feet  were  wet  and  cold. 
This  was  all  I  noticed  in  the  first  instant  of  wakefulness. 
The  dream  had  been  so  real  that  the  reality  did  not  seem 
so  strange.  I  looked  down  the  river,  down  to  the  big 
bend  where  it  was  swallowed  up  by  the  hills. 

I  realised  with  a  sudden  pounding  terror  that  I  was 
awake,  and  that  I  was  out  on  the  river  bank.  At  first 
I  was  stupefied  with  fear.  I  did  not  want  to  move, 
lest  my  movement  attract  attention.  I  felt  that  some 
vague  danger  lurked  near  me.  The  blood  pounding  in 
my  ears  made  me  light-headed.  I  looked  over  at  the 
house.  It  was  closed  and  quiet,  the  dew  sparkling  on 
the  roof  in  the  moonlight. 

I  saw  something  by  the  gate.  I  looked  closer.  It  was 
irregular  and  dark.  It  was  Bounce.  He  stood  there  im- 
movable as  a  statue,  looking  steadily  in  my  direction. 
I  wanted  to  scream,  to  cry  out  I  wanted  to  call  for 
father,  but  when  I  tried  it,  my  voice  stuck  in  my  throat. 
Instead  of  a  cry,  there  was  nothing  but  a  hollow  rattle. 

Bounce  never  moved.  I  thought  he  stood  there  an 
eternity.  Then  like  a  well  regulated  machine,  he  turned 
and  trotted  off  up  the  road.  I  watched  him  until  the 
night  swallowed  him  up. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  out  of  sight  that  I  sprang  up 
and  ran  wildly  for  the  house.  As  I  went  through  the 
gate,  mother  opened  the  front  door. 

"O,  sonnie,  sonnie,  I  dreamed  about  it/'  she  said  rap- 
idly. 

I  ran  straight  to  her  arms,  sobbing  and  shaking  with  ter- 
ror. She  carried  me  into  the  house,  and  put  me  in  the 
bed  beside  her. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  went  to  sleep,  and  when 
I  did,  it  was  only  to  toss  restlessly.  The  next  day  we 


20  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

got  word  that  Bounce  had  been  seen  up  in  the  mountains, 
and  that  night  he  came  home. 

Father  saw  him  run  under  the  house  at  dusk,  for  our 
house,  like  most  all  the  others,  stood  up  off  the  ground. 
He  turned  a  white  face  to  mother. 

"Anne,  I  saw  that  dog  run  under  the  house." 

"O,  Tommy,  what  will  we  do,"  and  she  cast  a  quick 
look  around.  We  were  all  inside. 

"I'll  have  to  go  up  to  the  store  and  get  some  men." 

"Do  be  careful,  Tommy." 

He  went  out,  and  we  huddled  together  in  the  room. 
I  thought  he  would  never  come  back.  While  we  were 
waiting,  we  heard  something  bumping  against  the  floor 
under  the  house. 

"He's  in  another  fit,"  Hen  said. 

Soon  the  bumping  ceased,  and  all  was  still,  save  the 
crying  of  the  whippoorwill  up  in  the  mountains.  Soon 
we  heard  steps  approaching. 

"Now,  boys,  he's  right  under  there,"  we  heard  father 
say. 

"Got  a  lantern?"  some  one  asked. 

Mother  sprang  up,  and  when  father  opened  the  door 
she  gave  him  the  lantern.  For  several  minutes  we  could 
hear  nothing.  They  were  evidently  trying  to  locate  him. 

The  whippoorwill  cried  out  again  from  the  darkness. 
Then, 

"There  he  is,  boys.    Right  back  there.    See  him?" 

There  was  a  shuffling,  silence,  and  then  the  report  of 
a  revolver.  The  sound  was  terrific  in  the  room,  and, 
putting  my  hands  to  my  ears  to  shut  it  out,  I  ran  to 
mother. 

We  waited  again.  And  again  there  was  a  period  of 
silence,  broken  only  by  the  cry  of  the  whippoorwill. 
There  was  another  shot,  then  another  and  a  fourth. 

At  last  we  heard  the  men  leaving,  and  father  came 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  21 

in.     He  went  into  the  kitchen  and  remained  there  for 

some  time.    He  came  out,  drying  his  hands  on  the  kitchen 

towel. 

"Did  you  get  him  out,  Tommy?"  mother  asked. 
"Yes.    Out  behind  the  fence.    Bury  him  to-morrow." 
I   went  out  the  next  day  to   see  him  buried.     He 

looked  horrible,  and  I  was  glad  when  he  was  out  of  sight. 


Chapter  2 

THE  news  of  Bounce's  death  and  the  dramatic  way 
he  met  it,  travelled  far  and  was  so  enlarged  upon 
that  when  it  came  back  to  us  we  hardly  recognised  it. 
But  as  time  went  on  and  no  further  horrors  appeared  in 
the  way  of  mad  things  to  feed  the  general  thirst  for  de- 
tail, the  mad  dog  scare  died  out. 

For  me  it  was  completely  overshadowed  by  the  mo- 
mentous fact  that  I  was  to  start  to  school  in  the  fall.  I 
had  never  attended  before;  and  the  accounts  that  had 
been  brought  home  by  Hen  and  Margaret  filled  me  with  a 
great  eagerness  to  begin.  When  I  said  anything  about 
being  in  a  hurry  to  get  started,  Hen  had  some  remark  to 
make  about  my  soon  getting  enough  of  school.  But  I 
could  not  believe  it. 

Father  had  been  in  Flatwoods  during  the  summer,  and 
had  brought  back  a  big  primer  for  me.  The  leaves  were 
of  cloth  instead  of  paper,  and  the  letters  were  printed  on 
big  red  blocks  inside.  I  studied  over  them  by  the  hour, 
trying  vainly  to  get  some  meaning  from  them,  but  fail- 
ing utterly.  When  I  would  ask  Hen  to  help  me  out,  he 
would  say  that  I  would  learn  about  it  all  in  school. 

Consequently  it  was  a  big  day  for  me,  when,  grasping 
my  big  primer  firmly  in  my  hands,  I  started  off  with 
Margaret.  When  we  arrived,  books  had  already  taken 
up,  and  we  went  in  to  encounter  the  stares  of  all  who 
had  got  there  before  us.  I  sat  down  with  Margaret. 

The  teacher  soon  came  over  and  asked  Margaret  her 

22 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  23 

name.  I  thought  it  very  strange  that  any  one  should  ask 
her  such  a  question,  but  she  answered  as  though  it  were 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  Then  he  asked  me 
for  my  name.  I  hesitated.  I  did  not  want  to  say  my  own 
name  before  all  the  school.  But  he  pressed  me,  and  at 
last  I  told  him,  very  low. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Ben,"  I  repeated,  a  little  louder. 

"Ben  what?" 

"Ben  Rhodes." 

He  wrote  it  down  in  a  big  book,  and  went  back  up 
front. 

Outside  of  that  one  thing,  I  never  could  remember 
just  what  happened  on  that  first  day,  or  on  many  follow- 
ing days,  for  that  matter.  It  was  all  a  confused  jumble 
of  strange  experiences. 

But  the  teacher  was  the  strangest  of  all.  As  time 
went  on,  I  got  used  to  the  lessons,  the  other  scholars, 
and  especially  to  the  games  we  played,  but  I  never  got 
used  to  the  teacher.  He  did  not  look  like  anybody  I 
had  ever  seen.  He  was  tall,  his  legs  were  very  long 
and  ended  finally  in  a  body  that  was  more  like  a  badc- 
log  than  anything  else  I  knew.  His  neck  was  long  and 
red  and  thin,  and  his  head  bobbed  around  on  it  as  if  it 
were  set  plumb.  And  it  was  this  head  that  struck  me  as 
the  queerest.  Of  a  certainty  I  had  never  seen  anything 
like  it.  His  chin  was  pointed,  his  cheek  bones  stuck 
out,  and  his  great  hook  nose  seemed  designed  as  a  shel- 
ter for  the  long  red  hairs  that  grew  straight  down  out 
of  it.  Red  hair  grew  not  only  on  his  head,  although  it 
grew  there  in  great  mane-like  confusion.  It  grew  all 
over  him.  Where  his  wrists  hung  down  below  his  coat 
sleeves  it  was  so  profuse  that  it  gave  his  long  arms  a 
gorilla-like  suggestiveness.  And  when  he  opened  his 
uneven  red  mouth  in  a  grin,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  beholding 


24  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

in  reality  the  laughing  hyena  that  was  said  to  be  terror- 
ising the  country. 

It  mattered  little  to  me  what  others  might  think  of 
him.  In  fact,  I  had  more  than  once  heard  mother  say 
that  she  was  glad  he  had  our  school  that  year,  because, 
aside  from  being  very  smart  he  was  also  very  striking 
in  appearance.  And  Minnie  McRand  told  Margaret  that 
he  was  tall  and  very  handsome. 

But  I  had  to  piece  out  an  opinion  of  him  from  the 
scanty  material  that  was  furnished  by  my  limited  ex- 
perience, and  the  result  certainly  was  not  so  very  flat- 
tering. I  compared  his  hair  to  the  reddish  pelt  of  a  cer- 
tain wild  boar  that  father  had  shot  up  in  the  mountains. 
His  mouth  I  likened  to  the  terrifying  hyena  which  I  had 
never  seen,  but  which  I  was  able  to  picture  fully  from 
the  ample  and  horrible  accounts  I  had  had  of  him  from 
the  other  boys,  and  especially  from  Hen,  for  he  con- 
sidered the  monster  an  imminent  peril,  and  took  me  home 
of  an  evening  with  my  hair  standing  almost  straight  up 
from  fear  that  it  would  pounce  upon  us  from  every  laurel 
bush  we  passed.  And  I  thought  the  teacher's  arms 
looked  very  much  like  the  monster  gorilla  that  was  hon- 
oured with  a  full  page  on  the  chart. 

From  these  diverse  sources  I  built  up  my  conception 
of  him.  He  came  to  be  a  general  synthesis  of  hyena, 
gorilla  and  wild  boar,  with  perhaps  an  added  cunning 
that  was  given  him  by  his  shrewd  white  lashed  eyes. 
And  I  think  I  feared  him  about  as  I  would  have  feared 
the  combined  presence  of  all  these  monsters. 

I  told  father  about  it,  but  he  laughed  and  said  I  would 
get  used  to  him  in  time.  But  I  did  not.  As  time  went 
by  he  appeared  even  more  frightful  than  he  had  at 
first,  and  I  began  to  dread  the  day  which  I  was  sure 
would  come  when  I  should  encounter  his  wrath. 

On  a  certain  afternoon  in  late  Indian  summer  he  stood 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  25 

up  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  his  legs  wide  apart  and  his 
thumb  nails  nervously  digging  into  the  ends  of  a  pointer 
he  held  in  front  of  him.  He  glowered  around  at  us, 
and  I  just  sat  and  shivered  with  terror.  He  looked  par- 
ticularly at  me,  as  though  to  single  me  out  as  an  offender 
above  all  others,  and  then  let  his  eyes  roam  over  the 
room. 

"Students,"  he  began,  "I  hear  you  have  been  abusing 
the  privilege  of  playing  in  the  laurel.  You  must  under- 
stand that  if  you  disobey  my  orders  you  bring  the  pun- 
ishment on  yourselves.  After  this  no  student  will  be  al- 
lowed to  play  in  the  laurel  patch  either  at  noon  or  at 
recess." 

He  sat  down,  cleared  his  throat  further,  and  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

His  words  were  a  blow  to  me,  for  if  I  loved  anything, 
it  was  to  be  the  fox  out  in  that  great  patch  of  laurel, 
with  the  other  boys  as  dogs,  and  try  to  elude  them  and 
keep  them  from  finding  me.  The  laurel  grew  so  thick 
that  the  sun  never  reached  the  ground  beneath  it.  It 
came  together  overhead  like  a  tangled  hedge.  The  brown 
bark  fell  off  the  twisted  stalks  and  carpeted  the  ground 
as  with  pine  needles.  And  through  this  tangle  there  were 
little  circuitous  paths  worming  here  and  there  in  the  most 
baffling  manner.  In  the  game  of  fox  and  dog,  I  would 
be  given  a  start  while  somebody  counted  fifty,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  amidst  much  braying  and  snarling, 
the  whole  pack  would  start  in  pursuit.  It  was  always 
my  hope  to  hide  so  cleverly  that  books  should  take  up 
without  my  hiding  place  being  found. 

And  now  that  this  one  absorbing  game  was  out  of 
the  question,  what  should  we  do?  I  knew  all  too  well 
why  we  were  forbidden  to  play  in  the  laurel.  Floyd 
Hankerton  had  smelled  too  strongly  of  tobacco  the  day 
before  to  leave  any  grounds  for  doubt  as  to  the  reason. 


26  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

I  sat  with  Ed  Rainey. 

"What  will  we  do  now?"  I  whispered. 

"Go  anyway." 

"He  might  see  us." 

"What  if  he  does?" 

It  mattered  to  me  whether  he  did.  I  feared  him  too 
much  to  want  to  run  any  risks.  But  when  we  went  out 
at  noon  it  certainly  was  a  temptation.  The  sun  was 
warm,  and  I  knew  how  delightful  it  would  be  under 
the  laurel. 

Hen  got  a  sandwich  from  our  lunch  and  slipped  over 
to 'where  Charlie  Snowden  was  eating.  The  two  talked  a 
moment  in  an  undertone,  looking  frequently  toward  the 
school  house  door,  and  then  toward  the  laurel  patch. 

Then  they  and  several  of  the  older  boys  started  off 
down  the  hill. 

"Where  you  going,  Hen?"  I  called. 

"O,  just  down  here,"  he  called  back  carelessly,  at  the 
same  time  beginning  to  walk  faster. 

I  knew  where  he  was  going.  The  ground  would  be 
soft  and  warm  under  the  laurel.  I  wished  Hen  had  not 
gone.  He  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  what  the  teacher 
said,  and  I  was  always  afraid  he  would  get  whipped  ter- 
ribly. I  wanted  to  go  to  the  laurel  patch  as  badly  as  he 
did,  but  I  was  too  scared  of  the  teacher. 

With  all  my  fear  of  him,  I  wanted  the  teacher's  ap- 
proval. I  wanted  him  to  say  that  I  had  got  a  good  lesson, 
or  written  a  good  copy,  or  obeyed  orders  commendably. 
It  made  little  difference  what  it  was  for,  I  wanted  him 
to  say  that  I  was  a  model  pupil.  So  when  I  saw  all 
the  boys  slinking  off  down  toward  the  laurel  patch,  I 
virtuously  went  out  and  played  ball  with  the  girls  until 
the  bell  rang.  Then  I  went  piously  in  to  my  seat  and 
sat  down. 

When  the  boys  stormed  in  a  little  later,  scraping  their 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  27 

feet  on  the  floor  and  coughing  loudly,  I  was  at  my  seat 
industriously  engaged  with  my  lessons. 

Ed  Rainey  fell  into  the  seat  and  knocked  my  book 
out  of  my  hand.  It  fell  with  a  clatter  to  the  floor,  but 
I  looked  up  at  the  teacher  hoping  he  would  see  that  I 
was  trying  hard  to  obey  him  in  spite  of  what  any  one 
else  did,  but  he  was  not  looking  at  me. 

He  sat  at  his  desk  looking  around  the  room.  The  other 
boys  had  not  got  quiet  yet,  but  I  was  poring  over  my 
book  with  knitted  brow.  I  thought  surely  he  would  soon 
see  me  and  commend  me.  Perhaps  he  would  do  it  be- 
fore the  whole  school,  and  hold  me  up  as  an  example. 
I  hoped  he  would.  » 

Then  he  saw  me,  and  for  some  time  looked  intently 
in  my  direction.  I  felt  his  eyes  upon  me  and  became 
much  confused.  Yet  I  felt  a  glow  within.  Virtue  was 
to  receive  its  reward.  Once  I  looked  up  at  him  and 
smiled  understandingly,  as  if  there  were  some  common 
bond  between  us  which  each  knew  and  understood. 

He  got  up  and  came  slowly  over  toward  me.  He  ap- 
proached until  he  stood  at  my  side,  looking  down  at  my 
book.  My  heart  nearly  smothered  me,  for  I  knew  so  well 
what  he  would  say.  He  had  said  the  same  thing  about 
Minnie  (McRand  once,  when  he  told  the  whole  school 
that  they  could  well  copy  her  example  as  a  student,  and 
although  she  was  the  oldest  girl  in  school  and  Margaret 
said  he  was  wanting  to  go  with  her,  I  felt  that  she  had 
not  been  a  bit  better  than  I  had  been,  and  just  knew  that 
the  teacher  would  say  the  same  thing  about  me.  He 
would  clear  his  throat  loudly,  and  begin. 

"I  asked  the  boys  not  to  play  in  the  laurel  to-day,  but  I 
see  I  was  not  obeyed.  Not  a  student  did  as  I  told  him, 
except  Ben  here,"  and  he  would  lay  his  hand  familiarly 
on  my  shoulder,  "and  I  wish  before  the  whole  school 
to  acknowledge "  and  I  rushed  on,  mentally  pictur- 


28  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

ing  the  whole  scene.  I  half  wished  that  in  addition  to 
commending  me,  he  would  hold  the  others  in  at  recess 
while  I  roamed  at  large. 

The  minutes  flew  but  nothing  happened.  I  looked  up 
and  smiled.  He  was  standing  directly  at  my  side.  Then 
he  stamped  his  foot  angrily,  and  brought  his  pencil  down 
rap !  rap !  upon  my  head. 

"Keep  your  eyes  on  your  book,  Ben.  You  must  obey 
what  I  tell  you,"  and  he  marched  back  over  toward  his 
desk. 

My  face  got  hot.  I  held  the  book  up  in  front  of  me, 
but  it  was  of  little  use.  I  could  not  see  a  word.  I 
wanted  to  hide  so  no  one  could  see  me.  Charlie  Snowden 
tittered.  I  never  put  in  a  more  interminable  afternoon, 
and  when  school  was  out  I  went  home  with  Margaret. 

When  we  got  home  father  was  reading  a  great  book 
and  looked  very  severe.  I  didn't  say  a  word  to  him,  for 
I  knew  he  was  getting  up  his  Sunday  sermon.  I  went 
out  to  the  kitchen  instead.  Mother  was  there,  romantic 
and  bright  as  ever. 

"There  he  comes,"  she  called  out  as  I  entered,  "and 
how  did  my  boy  get  along  to-day?" 

I  hesitated  only  for  an  instant.  Mother  always  under- 
stood everything,  and  I  thought  I  couldn't  keep  the  thing 
in  my  heart  another  minute.  I  told  hef  all  about  it. 

"Bless  my  little  boy,"  she  said,  and  came  over  and 
gave  me  a  great  hug.  That  was  all  she  said,  but  all  at 
once  every  thing  seemed  to  brighten. 

When  I  went  back  into  the  living  room  Hen  was  not 
there.  I  went  out  into  the  front  yard  and  looked  around. 
He  was  not  in  sight.  I  ran  around  the  house  and  called 
for  him.  Just  then  I  saw  him  up  in  the  woods.  He 
stooped  over  quickly  at  sight  of  me,  straightened  up  and 
put  his  knife  in  his  pocket. 

"What  you  want!"  he  called  down  impatiently. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  29 

"What  you  doing?"  I  asked  as  I  hurried  up  to  him. 
I  saw  shavings  scattered  around  on  the  ground.  He  had 
been  whittling. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  starting  toward  the  house. 

I  could  not  imagine  what  he  had  been  doing,  yet  it  was 
something  he  wanted  to  hide  from  me.  I  made  as  if  to 
gather  up  some  round  stones  such  as  we  used  for 
"skating,"  intending  to  wait  until  he  was  gone  and  then 
try  to  find  what  he  had  been  working  at. 

"What  you  want?"  he  called  down  impatiently. 

"Getting  some  stones  to  skate." 

"No  good  stones  here.  Why  don't  you  go  down  to  the 
sard  bar?" 

"These  are  better,"  and  I  kept  on  gathering  them. 

"Let's  go  down  to  the  river  and  see  if  we  can  find  any 
fish,"  he  proposed  in  a  wheedling '  tone. 

"Huh-uh.     Water's  too  cold,"  and  I  kept  on. 

"Look  then  if  you  want  to.  I  give  you  leave.  You 
can't  find  it."  He  sat  down  on  a  rock  to  wait. 

I  looked  everywhere,  but  found  nothing.  Finally  I 
gave  up. 

"Tell  me  what  it  is,  Hen,"  I  pleaded. 

"Huh-uh.  It's  not  done  yet.  If  you  go  home  now  and 
let  me  work  on  it  to-night,  I'll  show  it  to  you  to-morrow 
when  we  get  home  from  school." 

I  tried  to  coax  him,  but  in  vain.  I  gave  it  up  and 
went  home  and  watched  him  from  the  kitchen  window. 
He  whittled  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  came  down  to 
the  wood-pile  and  looked  it  over.  Every  now  and  then 
he  would  roll  his  eyes  up  and  look  to  see  whether  I 
was  watching,  without  appearing  to  look  for  me.  He  se- 
lected a  small  piece  of  hickory  and  went  back  up.  That 
gave  me  an  idea :  He  was  either  making  a  bow  or  a  pop- 
gun. 


30  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

We  were  nearly  home  from  school  the  next  day  before 
I  could  induce  him  to  talk  about  it. 

"Did  you  get  it  done?"  I  asked  as  indifferently  as  I 
could. 

"Get  what  done?"  But  I  could  see  he  knew  what  I 
meant. 

"Huh !    Maybe  you  were  not  making  anything." 

"You  wait  till  you  see  it." 

"Maybe  I  don't  want  to  see  it.    I've  seen  them  before." 

"Seen  what?" 

"O,  what  you  were  making." 

"You  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"I  don't,  don't  I?  How  do  you  know?" 

"Then  if  you've  seen  it  I  won't  need  to  show  it  to 
you.  You  can  feed  the  pigs  while  I  look  at  it." 

Instantly  I  saw  I  had  gone  too  far. 

"I  said  maybe,"  and  I  smiled  feebly. 

"No,  you  didn't." 

"Honest,  Hen,  I  haven't  touched  it." 

He  seemed  mollified  and  we  hurried  on.  We  stopped 
at  the  house  just  long  enough  to  throw  our  books  on  a 
chair,  and  hurried  out  and  up  the  hill.  Just  then  father 
called. 

"Boys,  come  here  a  minute." 

We  went  back  reluctantly. 

"Henry,  you  go  to  the  store  and  get  me  a  Spencerian 
pen  point.  Remember  the  name,  now.  S-p-e-n-c-e-r-i-a-n. 
It  will  cost  a  penny.  Here  it  is.  Now  hurry  back.  Ben, 
you  take  that  basket  and  go  up  and  pull  a  basket  of  pars- 
ley for  the  hogs.  Get  it  clear  full.  Now  hurry,  both 
of  you." 

I  got  the  basket  and  trudged  wearily  up  the  field. 
Looking  back  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  Hen  dart  off  for 
the  store  like  a  whirlwind.  To  go  there  was  a  great 
thing.  The  smell  was  fine,  and  pieces  of  poplar  boards 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  31 

might  be  picked  up  anywhere  and  used  for  making  pad- 
dles and  dead-falls.  But  to  pull  parsley  for  the  hogs! 
That  was  the  most  despised  job  of  all.  While  I  was 
filling  the  basket  with  the  fat  reddish  stuff  I  was  in  a 
nervous  fear  lest  Hen  should  get  back  before  me  and 
take  what  he  had  made  and  leave  again.  I  pulled  fu- 
riously, and  in  much  less  time  than  seemed  to  me,  was 
back  again.  Father  saw  me  coming  and  smiled  approv- 
ingly. 

"You  did  well,  Bennie.  Now  you  can  carry  in  some 
stove  wood.  Henry  is  not  back  yet." 

While  I  was  carrying  in  the  first  load  Hen  came  back. 
He  gave  the  pen  to  mother  and  hurried  up  the  hill.  I 
threw  down  the  load  in  the  wood  box  and  hurried  after 
him.  Father's  voice  called  me  back.  / 

"Bring  in  another  load,  son.    That  one  is  not  enough." 

I  could  have  cried.  While  I  was  carrying  in  wood  Hen 
was  up  there  doing  goodness  knew  what!  When  I 
joined  him  he  was  sitting  calmly  on  a  rock.  It  was  the 
one  he  had  sat  on  the  day  before  while  I  had  searched. 
He  saw  that  I  was  panting  and  grinned. 

"Why  didn't  you  slip  out?"  he  inquired  in  a  cunning 
tone. 

"I  did,  but  he  made  me  come  back." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  mother?  She  would  have  car- 
ried in  the  wood." 

"Where  is  it?"  I  demanded. 

"Here." 

"Where?" 

"Under  this  rock." 

He  got  up  and  calmly  rolled  the  stone  away.  Un- 
derneath he  had  burrowed  out  the  earth,  and  in  the  hol- 
low was  the  treasure.  It  was  a  pop-gun,  and  before  I 
had  admired  it,  I  admired  Hen.  He  had  had  the  fore- 
thought to  introduce  a  new  fashion.  No  use  to  forbid 


32  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

us  to  play  in  the  laurel  again  that  year.  When  that  pop- 
gun appeared  in  school  the  next  day,  every  boy  would 
spend  the  noon  along  the  creek  banks  looking  for  elders 
to  make  pop-guns  out  of. 

And  this  pop-gun  was  a  beauty.  Somewhere  Hen  had 
found  the  biggest  piece  of  elder  I  had  ever  seen.  This 
he  had  carefully  peeled  and  scraped  and  rounded  until 
it  glistened.  After  he  had  shoved  the  pith  out,  he  had 
hollowed  the  breech  out  slightly  to  facilitate  loading. 
He  had  carefully  whittled  a  ram  rod  out  of  the  stick  of 
hickory  stove  wood,  and  had  left  a  big  square  head  on 
the  end  of  it  to  hit  with  the  hand. 

"What  you  think  of  it?"  he  asked. 

It  was  some  little  time  before  I  answered.  I  just  stood 
and  looked  with  my  mouth  open. 

"Let  me  feel  it,"  I  asked,  stretching  out  my  hand 
eagerly. 

He  drew  back. 

"No.    You  might  break  it.    I'll  show  it  to  you." 

Then  he  began  didactically. 

"See  this  ramrod?  Notice  I  left  a  square  head  on 
it  so  you  can  hit  it  harder  and  it  won't  hurt  your  hand. 
Most  of  them  are  round.  Now  notice  it  here  at  the 
breech.  See  how  it  is  hollowed  out.  That's  so  you  can 
load  it  quicker.  See?" 

Did  I  notice  it  ?  Did  I !  Again  my  admiration  for 
Hen  grew  above  my  admiration  of  the  gun.  He  had 
made  an  invention.  No  one  ever  made  a  pop-gun  at 
Barren  Rocks  after  that  that  did  not  have  the  breech 
hollowed  out  after  the  fashion  of  Hen's  new  invention. 
Hen  was  smart.  At  that  moment  I  thought  he  was  won- 
derful. But  he  soon  got  overbearing  about  it. 

"You  couldn't  make  a  pop-gun  like  that.  No  one 
around  here  could." 

I  knew  it,  but  there  was  no  use  for  Hen  to  say  so. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  3$ 

"Maybe  it  won't  shoot,"  I  insinuated. 

"Won't  shoot?  Won't  shoot?  Y,ou  just  watch  and 
see.  Watch  me  shoot  that — that — "  he  looked  around 
him,  "that  pig  up  there." 

He  pulled  a  piece  of  newspaper  out  of  his  pocket, 
crammed  it  into  his  mouth  and  began  to  chew  on  it 
feverishly.  When  he  had  reduced  it  to  a  pulp  he  pulled 
out  a  piece  and  forced  it  through  the  gun  until  it  stuck 
out  at  the  front  end.  He  put  his  thumb  over  it  and 
pushed  it  back  tight.  Then  he  shoved  another  wad  in 
at  the  breech  and  pushed  it  about  half  way  down. 

He  grasped  the  gun  firmly  in  his  left  hand  and  looked 
around.  Off  a  little  piece  was  a  sand  coloured  pig  nos- 
ing around  for  mast.  It  grunted  inquiringly  as  we 
turned  toward  it,  blinked  at  us  and  twitched  its  little 
spiral  tail.  Hen  took  aim.  He  drew  back  his  right  arm, 
palm  open  and  rigid,  and  brought  his  hand  around 
sharply  against  the  ramrod.  There  was  a  sharp  pop! 
and  the  little  ball  of  wet  paper  shot  straight  for  the 
hog.  It  took  it  square  on  the  ham.  The  hog  grunted 
sharply,  kicked  its  leg  and  walked  disgustedly  away. 

"Won't  shoot,  won't  it?"  smiled  Hen  superiorly. 

"What  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Take  it  to  school  to-morrow,"  and  he  made  for  the 
house. 

On  our  way  to  school  the  next  morning  I  noticed  a 
large  bulge  in  Hen's  hip  pocket.  It  filled  me  with  fore- 
bodings. He  would  be  sure  to  get  in  trouble  with  the 
pop-gun,  and  again  my  old  terror  of  what  the  teacher 
might  do  to  him  arose  to  make  me  wretched.  I  wished 
Hen  would  be  more  careful. 

"What  you  going  to  do  with  it  in  school?"  I  asked 
him. 

"Wait  and  see,"  was  the  sinister  reply. 

Books  had  taken  up  at  noon  and  there  had  been  no 


34  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

trouble  so  far.  I  began  to  have  hopes  that  for  once  Hen 
would  act  sensible  and  not  try  to  do  anything  that  the 
teacher  did  not  want  him  to  do.  I  felt  greatly  relieved. 
But  almost  as  the  sigh  of  relief  escaped  me  I  looked  at 
Hen  and  was  filled  with  consternation. 

Hen  didn't  have  a  regular  seat  mate.  He  was  one 
of  the  older  pupils,  as  the  teacher  called  them,  and  they 
sat  about  where  they  pleased.  Sometimes  Hen  would 
sit  alone  for  a  week  or  two,  then  he  would  sit  with 
Charley  Snowden  or  Grouchie  McRand,  and  he  had  even 
been  known  to  sit  with  Floyd  Hankerton,  although  very 
few  would  sit  with  him.  Nearly  every  one  avoided 
Floyd.  His  clothes  were  always  horrible.  He  would 
eat  his  dinner,  get  apple-butter  on  his  hands,  and  wipe 
them  on  his  clothes  by  the  simple  but  practical  method 
of  placing  them  open  on  his  sides  and  rubbing  them  down 
over  his  shirt  and  pants  as  far  as  he  could  reach.  His 
hands  were  usually  in  fair  condition  and  left  little  to  be 
desired,  but  his  clothes  made  him  a  rather  sticky  seat 
mate.  But  Hen  sat  with  him  once.  That  was  like  Hen. 
Take  it  into  his  head  to  do  a  thing,  and  he  would  do  it. 

But  this  day  he  sat  with  Bill  Hunter.  As  I  looked 
over  at  him  I  saw  the  two  with  their  heads  down  looking 
intently  at  something  on  Hen's  knee.  Hen  was  chewing 
a  piece  of  paper  cautiously,  working  his  fingers  over  his 
face  so  the  teacher  couldn't  see  what  he  was  doing.  I 
couldn't  see  the  actual  act  from  where  I  sat,  but  I  knew 
well  enough  when  he  shoved  the  first  wad  of  paper  into 
the  pop-gun.  I  saw  him  look  all  around  and  commence 
a  second  operation,  and  from  the  absorbed  look  on  Bill's 
face  I  knew  the  matter  had  proceeded  to  a  very  acute  and 
interesting  stage. 

I  was  filled  with  panic.  Why,  I  kept  asking  myself, 
did  Hen  always  manage  to  do  something  which  he  knew 
the  teacher  wouldn't  like?  Couldn't  he  see  he  was  sure 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  35 

to  be  found  out  and  wasn't  he  afraid  of  the  teacher?  I 
could  not  see  for  the  life  of  me  how  any  one  would  dare 
to  cross  him,  but  evidently  Hen  was  not  at  all  nervous. 
There  he  sat  loading  his  pop-gun,  and  his  very  absorp- 
tion gave  the  teacher  a  chance  to  slip  up  behind  him  and 
catch  him  red-handed.  Once  the  teacher  moved  in  the 
back  of  the  room,  and  I  wanted  to  shout  a  warning. 

But  I  looked  on  as  if  fascinated.  Hen  looked  slowly 
and  cautiously  around  the  room.  Bill  grinned,  cleared 
his  throat,  straightened  up  and  began  to  study  in  the 
most  industrious  manner.  He  was  working  on  his  read- 
ing lesson,  and  from  where  I  sat  I  could  hear  him  pro- 
nounce the  words  as  he  read  them: 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered 
As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 
"Isn't  God  upon  the  ocean, 
Just  the  same  as  on  the  land?" 

Just  then  Hen  straightened  up  in  his  seat.  Three  seats 
in  front  of  him  sat  Henrietta  McRand.  Henrietta  was 
fat,  and  a  lot  of  her  neck  was  exposed  as  she  bent  duti- 
fully over  her  lesson.  I  divined  Hen's  intention  even  be- 
fore he  made  a  move.  I  could  have  cried  aloud.  The 
teacher  was  standing  in  the  open  doorway  looking  down 
the  road.  I  knew  Hen  didn't  like  Henrietta.  The  girls 
called  her  Hen  and  we  called  Henry  Hen,  and  Henry 
and  Henrietta  were  called  the  Barren  Rocks  leghorns. 
This  made  Hen  very  mad.  He  raised  his  left  hand  and 
in  it  was  the  awful  pop-gun.  He  aimed  it  squarely  at 
Henrietta's  bare  neck.  He  drove  the  ramrod  hard,  and 
the  paper  ball  struck  her  square. 

The  report  of  the  gun  and  Henrietta's  scream  came 
so  near  together  that  I  did  not  know  which  caused  the 
teacher  to  turn.  She  looked  around,  more  frightened,  I 


36  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

believe,  at  her  own  scream  than  because  of  what  had  hit 
her,  and  the  whole  school  broke  into  a  babble. 

"Silence!"  the  teacher  thundered,  glaring  around. 
"What  is  this  I  hear?" 

I  looked  nervously  over  at  Hen.  He  and  Bill  were 
the  only  studious  ones  in  the  room.  They  were  even 
clever  enough  to  simulate  interest  in  the  uproar  around 
them  before  they  began  to  look  suspicious.  Margaret 
said  afterward  that  my  eyes  were  fairly  popping  out  of 
my  head  and  that  I  was  bouncing  around  on  my  seat. 
The  teacher  fixed  a  cold  eye  on  me. 

"Ben,  do  you  know  anything  about  this?"  he  de- 
manded. 

I  managed  to  stammer  out  that  I  did  not.  Ed  Rainey 
tittered. 

"Be  quiet,  Ed,"  the  teacher  said,  and,  "Return  to  your 
studies,  students,  and  let  me  hear  nothing  more  out  of 
you  this  day." 

For  some  time  I  did  not  look  in  Hen's  direction.  When 
I  did  he  and  Bill  were  still  hard  at  work.  I  had  not 
watched  them  long  before  I  noticed  that  the  tension  was 
relaxing.  I  knew  Hen  so  well  that  I  could  tell  every 
move  he  made.  When  he  looked  at  Bill  and  winked,  I 
knew  that  their  success  had  been  so  complete  that  they 
would  try  something  more.  When  Bill  winked  and  nod- 
ded encouragingly,  I  knew  some  further  devilment  was 
being  contemplated. 

Once  more  Hen  got  out  his  pop-gun  and  loaded  it. 
This  time  he  seemed  to  have  no  particular  mark  in  view. 
He  simply  let  the  ramrod  rest  on  his  knee  while  he 
looked  about  him  innocently — at  the  walls,  at  the  teacher, 
out  of  the  window.  How  it  happened  he  never  could 
explain.  Perhaps  in  looking  around  he  forgot  the  gun 
in  his  hands,  and  let  the  weight  of  his  arm  rest  too  heav- 
ily upon  it.  At  any  rate  it  went  off,  not  a  sharp,  clear 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  37 

report,  but  a  sickly  feeble  pop,  and  the  paper  wad  went 
up  straight,  hit  the  ceiling  and  stuck. 

He  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  put  the  gun  in  his 
pocket,  but  the  teacher  was  keen  to  note  the  direction 
of  the  sound.  Perhaps  he  had  seen  more  than  we  knew. 
It  sometimes  happened  that  way.  At  least  he  strode 
directly  to  Hen's  seat.  He  spoke  first  to  Bill. 

"Bill,  did  you  shoot  off  that  pop-gun?" 

"No,  sir,"  Bill  answered  promptly. 

"Do  you  know  who  did?" 

Bill  did  not  answer.  The  teacher  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  where  the  wad 
stuck.  It  was  directly  over  Hen's  head.  He  went  around 
to  Hen. 

"Give  me  that  pop-gun,"  he  demanded  shortly. 

Reluctantly,  sheepishly,  Hen  handed  it  over.  He  took 
it  up  and  laid  it  on  his  desk. 

"Now,  Henry,  you  can  go  up  and  stand  behind  the 
chart.  I  am  going  to  dismiss  school  early  to-day,  but 
you  can  stay  until  four  o'clock." 

Shortly  afterward,  school  was  dismissed,  and  we  filed 
out  more  serious  than  usual.  I  looked  back  over  my 
shoulder  as  I  went  out  the  door.  Hen  was  behind  the 
chart.  But  instead  of  standing  meekly  behind  it,  he  was 
tiptoeing  up  until  his  head  stuck  up  above  it,  and  when 
any  one  looked  back  at  him  he  would  draw  down  his 
mouth  and  stick  out  his  tongue  in  a  horrible  grin.  I 
shuddered. 


Chapter  3 

CHRISTMAS  was  over  a  month  off,  but  my  desire 
was  so  overpowering  that  I  wanted  to  take  all  pre- 
cautions. Ed  Rainey  had  wanted  a  pair  of  boots  the 
Christmas  before,  but  when  he  asked  his  mother  a  few 
days  before  Christmas  whether  he  would  be  apt  to  get 
them  or  not,  she  said  she  didn't  expect  he  would,  as  he 
had  not  asked  for  them  soon  enough.  She  said  Santy 
had  his  presents  already  made  up,  and  that  Ed  had  waited 
too  long. 

I  simply  would  not  run  the  risk  of  being  too  late 
in  asking  for  what  I  wanted.  It  was  too  important. 
Mother  was  in  the  kitchen  washing  the  supper  dishes 
and  I  went  quietly  in  to  talk  the  whole  thing  over  with 
her.  Father  was  in  the  living  room,  but  I  felt  easier 
in  going  first  to  mother.  To  be  sure  father  never  was 
very  cross,  and  was  always  careful  to  be  just  with  us, 
but  it  was  a  lot  easier  to  come  to  an  understanding  with 
mother,  although  he  usually  had  the  final  authority. 

I  sat  down  by  the  kitchen  table.  It  was  covered  with 
oil  cloth  made  up  like  a  big  checker  board.  I  didn't  know 
just  how  to  begin  what  I  had  to  say.  My  heart  was 
beating  pretty  fast,  and  I  wanted  to  wait  until  it  stopped 
so  that  it  wouldn't  click  in  my  throat  as  it  sometimes 
did  when  I  was  very  excited.  I  let  on  that  one  square 
in  the  table  cloth  was  a  trap,  and  that  my  hand  was  a 
bear.  I  walked  the  bear  up  a  row  of  squares  until  he 

38 


39 

stepped  unwittingly  in  the  trap  and  was  caught  safe,  and 
by  that  time  I  felt  better. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  from  Santy  yet,  mother?" 
I  began. 

"Not  yet,  sonnie.     Is  my  boy  thinking  about  Santy?" 

"I  was  just  wondering." 

"And  what  is  my  boy  wondering  about?" 

"Santy  brought  Grouchie  McRand  a  gun  last  year." 

She  became  very  serious. 

"But  my  boy  must  not  expect  too  much  of  Santy." 

"But  I  am  not  too  young  to  carry  a  gun.  I  shoot 
Grouchie's,  and  I  killed  a  squirrel  with  it,  too,"  I  burst 
out  passionately. 

"I  know,  sonnie,  but  sometimes  poor  people  don't  get 
very  much  from  Santy." 

"But  why  should  Santy  care  whether  we  are  poor 
or  not?  I  could  keep  the  ground  squirrels  out  of  the 
corn,  too,  if  I  had  a  gun,"  I  added,  cunningly. 

"I  know,  sonnie.  But  sometimes  the  churches  get 
behind  and " 

"But  what  difference  does  that  make  with  Santy?  He 
don't  have  to  buy  the  presents.  They  just  come." 

"Maybe  you  had  better  ask  your  father  about  it,"  she 
suggested. 

"You  ask  him  for  me !  Maybe  he  will  say  I  can  have 
one  if  you  ask  him."  Father  was  always  fair  to  us,  but 
I  dreaded  to  ask  him  for  anything.  When  mother 
asked  him  for  me  I  usually  ran  and  held  my  ears  until 
she  was  through. 

"We  will  see  about  it,"  was  all  she  would  say. 

A  week  or  so  later  I  went  into  the  living  room.  She 
was  sitting  before  the  fire.  She  looked  at  me  a  long 
time  without  saying  a  word.  I  was  leaning  against  the 
jamb  looking  into  the  fire,  but  I  knew  she  was  looking 
at  me.  Then  I  looked  at  her. 


40  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Why,  mother,  you  are  crying,"  I  said,  going  over 
toward  her.  She  laughed  in  her  low  petting  way. 

"No,  I'm  not,  sonnie." 

"You  are,  too.    I  see  tears  in  your  eyes." 

"It  is  the  fire.    It  hurts  my  eyes." 

"It  don't  hurt  mine,"  I  persisted  stubbornly. 

"That  is  because  you  are  a  little  man.  Come  and  sit 
on  my  lap." 

I  went  over  and  she  pulled  me  back  against  her. 

"We  have  heard  from  Santy,"  she  began. 

I  didn't  move.    I  didn't  even  breathe. 

"He — he  said  maybe  we  couldn't  have  a  gun  this 
year." 

I  looked  up  into  her  eyes  a  long  time.  She  looked 
into  mine.  Then  I  got  up  and  went  into  the  kitchen. 

For  several  days  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it. 
Then  I  went  to  mother  again. 

"Will  Santy  bring  us  anything,  mother?" 

She  patted  my  head. 

"Santy  never  forgets  good  boys.    You  wait  and  see." 

For  a  whole  week  before  Christmas  everything  was 
abustle  at  our  house.  Great  quantities  of  round  brown 
sweet  cakes  were  baked  and  stored  away.  Big  fat  layer 
cakes  were  put  together  and  the  top  sprinkled  with  red 
cinnamon  drops.  Pies  of  all  sorts  were  baked,  and 
mother  made  little  rabbits  and  Indians  and  baskets  out 
of  the  pie  crust.  She  made  me  a  great  steel  trap  out 
of  some,  and  put  a  fox  in  it. 

Christmas  came  on  Friday,  and  father  and  mother 
went  to  town  on  Wednesday.  They  rode  back  after 
night,  mother  in  her  long  black  riding-skirt  and  father 
in  his  big  high  leggings.  It  was  bitter  cold  outside,  and 
we  had  a  roaring  log  fire  in  the  fireplace  when  they 
came  in.  Hen  went  out  to  put  the  horses  in  the  stable, 
but  he  made  us  promise  we  wouldn't  open  a  thing  until 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  41 

he  got  back.  Hen  told  me  he  did  not  care  how  long" 
it  was  until  Christmas,  but  he  kept  the  frost  thawed  off 
the  window  while  he  watched  for  father  and  mother 
that  night. 

When  they  got  their  wraps  off,  father  got  me  under 
the  arms  and  held  me  clear  up  to  the  ceiling.  Mother 
was  all  pink  and  glowy,  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars. 
There  were  any  number  of  packages,  all  tied  up  in  red 
and  brown  paper.  Father  got  these  all  together  and 
started  into  the  kitchen.  I  made  after  him. 

"No,  you  go  back,  son.  I  must  put  these  things  in 
where  they  won't  thaw  out." 

He  went  into  a  little  room  that  opened  off  the  kitchen, 
that  we  used  to  store  things  in.  When  he  came  back 
in  he  looked  greatly  pleased. 

"You  children  must  not  go  into  the  back  room  any 
more,"  he  said. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  saddle-pockets  and  began  to 
unbuckle  the  flaps.  But  loyal  Margaret  spoke  up. 

"Hen  is  not  back  yet.  We  promised  not  to  open  any- 
thing until  he  got  back." 

We  all  waited  until  he  came  in. 

"Hurry  up,  Hen.  We  are  waiting  for  you,"  I  cried 
eagerly. 

"No  hurry,"  he  drawled.  "What  you  bouncing  around 
for,  Ben?" 

"You  let  my  little  boy  alone,"  mother  said,  and  drew 
me  over  to  her. 

Then  father  opened  the  saddle-pockets.  First  he  drew 
out  a  package  and  untied  it  carefully.  It  was  filled  with 
long,  striped  sticks  of  peppermint  candy.  He  carefully 
gave  us  each  a  stick. 

"O  Tommy,  give  them  the  bananas.  Let's  see  what 
they  think  of  them,"  mother  broke  in  eagerly.  Father's 


42  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

real  name  was  Peter,  but  mother  always  called  him 
Tommy  when  there  was  no  company  around. 

"Bananas?"  we  all  echoed  blankly.  None  of  us  had 
ever  heard  of  them  before,  and  had  no  idea  what  they 
were.  We  were  so  far  from  the  railroad  that  things 
had  to  be  brought  to  the  Barren  Rocks  store  in  canoes, 
and  the  storekeeper  did  not  keep  anything  but  the 
"staples." 

"The  banana,  children,  is  a  fruit  that  grows  on  trees," 
father  explained.  "They  grow  something  like  paw-paws, 
only  in  bunches.  Here  they  are.  You  peel  them  like 
this  and  then  eat  them."  He  gave  Hen  and  Margaret  each 
one,  but  he  broke  me  off  a  piece  of  the  third,  and  ate  the 
rest  himself. 

I  took  a  little  bite  and  chewed  on  it  a  long  time.  It 
was  sticky,  and  had  a  sweetish  flavour  unlike  anything 
I  had  ever  tasted  before.  Hen  and  Margaret  finished 
theirs,  but  one  bite  was  as  far  as  I  got.  I  took  it  over 
and  gave  the  rest  to  mother. 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  will  lay  it  up  for  you  and  you  can  eat  it  to-morrow," 
and  she  put  it  up  on  the  fireboard.  But  I  never  finished 
it. 

I  thought  Christmas  never  would  come.  I  sat  by  the 
fire  the  day  before  and  counted  off  the  hours  as  they 
were  ticked  off  by  the  big  clock  that  stood  on  a  shelf 
against  the  wall.  And  when  I  finally  went  to  bed  I 
could  hardly  go  to  sleep  at  all.  We  had  been  told  to  shut 
the  bedroom  door  tight  so  as  not  to  frighten  Santy 
away. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  heard  movements  in  the 
living  room,  and  I  asked  Hen  in  a  whisper  if  it  could 
possibly  be  Santy.  For  answer  he  got  up,  tiptoed  to  the 
door  and  cautiously  opened  it  about  an  inch.  He  sat 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  43 

there  with  his  eyes  glued  to  it  for  a  long  time.  Finally 
he  came  slowly  back  to  bed. 

"Go  to  sleep,  Ben,"  he  said  as  he  covered  up. 

I  wanted  to  go  to  sleep  so  morning  would  hurry  and 
come,  but  for  some  reason  I  could  not  at  all  ...  I  lay 
a  long  time  ...  I  began  to  count  imaginary  sheep  as 
they  jumped  over  the  fence.  Mother  had  said  that  was 
a  good  way  to  get  to  sleep  .  .  .  one,  two,  three,  four 
.  .  .  seven,  eight,  nine  ...  I  thought  I  was  in  the  field 
watching  a  great  line  of  sheep  that  kept  coming  on  and 
on  ...  twenty,  twenty-one  .  .  .  there  was  a  big  one. .  .  . 

"Wake  up,  Ben !    Wake  up !    Christmas  gift !" 

I  sat  up  with  a  start  to  behold  father  in  the  doorway, 
his  face  looking  red  and  distorted  in  the  light  of  the  great 
log  fire.  I  cleared  the  bed  at  a  bound,  and  made  for  my 
box.  Hen  was  before  me,  so  was  Margaret. 

"Run  to  your  box,  Ben,  and  see  what  Santy  brought 
you,"  cried  father. 

He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  his  red 
flannel  nightshirt  reaching  about  to  his  knees,  his  feet 
bare,  with  a  great  smile  on  his  face. 

"What  did  he  bring  you,  Ben?  Come  over  and  show 
me !"  he  cried. 

I  was  excited  to  death.  I  carried  my  box  over  to  him, 
and  we  went  through  it  together.  He  picked  up  each 
thing  at  a  time,  speaking  eagerly,  hurriedly. 

"See !  The  pop  corn.  Nice  big  bunches.  And  sugar 
on  it.  And  the  parched  corn.  My!  my!  parched  corn, 
nice  and  salty.  Um-um-um.  Will  you  ever  eat  it  up? 
And  look  at  these  fire-crackers !  Real  fire-crackers.  And 
what's  this  ?  A  candy  cane !  Think,  a  candy  cane.  Won't 
it  be  good!  Um-um.  And,  O  Ben,  what's  this?  Look. 
What's  this?  Look  here.  A  knife.  See  the  big  blade? 
And  a  little  blade!  A  real  knife,  and  it's  yours."  He 
held  me  up  and  looked  at  me  searchingly. 


44  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

I  wriggled  down,  so  excited  I  could  hardly  breathe. 
I  gathered  my  treasures  together  and  made  for  the  kitch- 
en. Mother  was  busy  with  the  breakfast.  When  she 
saw  me,  she  put  down  everything  and  came  toward  me. 

"Bless  my  little  man!  What  did  Santy  bring  my 
boy?" 

I  held  out  my  box  and  she  looked  at  it  delightedly. 

"What  nice  things!  Isn't  Christmas  fine?  And  here 
is  another  Christmas  gift  for  my  boy."  So  saying  she 
knelt  down  on  the  floor  and  held  out  her  arms.  I 
climbed  right  into  her  lap.  She  turned  my  face  up. 
"Here's  one,  and  here,  and  here!"  she  said,  kissing  me 
each  time.  "Now  give  mother  a  Christmas  gift."  I 
wound  my  arms  around  her  and  gave  her  a  mighty 
hug.  "Now  run  back  to  the  fire,"  she  said,  and  I  was 
off. 

All  that  morning  we  spent  in  the  house,  snug  by  the 
fire,  eating  our  candy  and  pop  corn,  lighting  fire-crack- 
ers  in  the  fireplace  and  running  to  throw  them  out 
doors.  How  they  cracked,  and  what  delicious  fun  we  did 
have. 

Almost  before  we  knew  it,  mother  called  us  in  to  din- 
ner. The  kitchen  floor  was  bare,  and  our  boots  and 
shoes  clattered  on  the  floor  in  a  great  noise.  Father  had 
made  the  table  himself,  and  this  day  mother  had  put 
her  big  snowy  cover  on  it.  It  was  the  only  linen  table 
cloth  she  had,  and  she  thought  the  world  of  it.  Some 
one  had  given  it  to  her  at  the  River  appointment.  As 
we  trooped  into  the  kitchen  she  stood  proudly  at  the 
end  of  the  table.  Hen  and  I  made  a  great  rush  for  our 
places.  We  had  hardly  got  settled  when  mother  gave 
us  a  warning  look.  Father  was  going  to  return  thanks. 
We  thought  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  through,  but  at 
last  he  finished,  and  we  began  our  dinner.  We  had 
chicken  and  rabbit  and  squirrel.  There  were  boiled 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  45 

potatoes,  and  sweet  potatoes,  and  plenty  of  squirrel 
gravy  to  go  over  them. 

"Quit  bouncing  up  and  down,  Ben,"  Hen  admonished. 
"Your  turn  will  come." 

"I'll  fix  sonnie's  plate,"  mother  said,  and  began  to  put 
things  on  it.  When  it  would  hold  no  more  she  set  it 
down  in  front  of  me.  I  at  once  began.  "Wait,  now, 
sonnie,  till  we  get  ready,"  she  said. 

She  fluttered  around,  helping  first  one  and  then  an- 
other. Her  cheeks  had  little  red  spots  on  them,  and  her 
eyes  were  soft.  She  looked  proud  also,  and  I  was  proud 
of  her. 

"Be  careful  of  the  table-cloth,  Tommy,"  she  cau- 
tioned. 

It  didn't  take  us  nearly  so  long  to  finish  after  we  once 
got  started  as  it  had  taken  us  to  get  ready.  In  what 
seemed  to  be  but  a  minute  or  two  I  was  beginning  to 
look  about  helplessly.  There  were  stacks  of  pies  and 
cakes  left,  but  I  had  lost  interest.  I  ate  slowly,  indif- 
ferently, and  was  glad,  when  Hen  got  up,  to  slip  out 
with  him. 

Soon  Margaret,  Hen  and  I  went  out  to  play.  We 
went  off  down  the  river  bottom,  and  it  was  not  long 
until  Essie  Evans  came  out  and  joined  us.  Essie  had 
big  dark  eyes  and  curly  hair.  She  wore  her  hair  in 
little  spirals  that  hung  down  around  her  shoulders. 

I  liked  Essie  better  than  anybody  else.  She  was  so 
clean  and  dainty  that  I  always  liked  being  around  where 
she  was.  Margaret  said  one  day  that  it  would  be  a  nice 
thing  if  Essie  and  I  could  be  married  some  day.  I  thought 
it  would  too. 

When  she  came  up  to  where  we  were  playing,  I 
showed  her  a  square  piece  of  candy  Santy  had  brought 
me.  It  was  made  in  three  layers,  the  outside  ones  green, 
and  the  middle  one  white.  I  thought  it  was  very  fine 


46  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  let  Essie  hold  it.  She  wanted  a  bite  of  it,  but  I 
gave  her  a  bite  off  my  cane  instead. 

We  ran  races  up  and  down  the  bottom  for  a  while, 
then  climbed  up  a  little  tree  and  jumped  out,  but  it  was 
too  cold  to  have  much  fun  out  where  the  wind  blew  so 
hard.  Hen  suggested  that  we  build  us  houses  out  of  a 
big  pile  of  cord  wood,  and  play  that  we  were  grown  up 
and  lived  in  a  city. 

We  went  to  work  immediately.  By  laying  the  ends  of 
the  wood  together  in  a  square  we  could  build  easily,  and 
the  wind  did  not  blow  nearly  so  hard  inside.  When  we 
were  down  to  the  last  layer  of  wood,  Hen  picked  up  a 
stick  and  a  great  grey  rat  jumped  out  from  under  it,  and 
with  tail  sticking  straight  out,  scampered  nimbly  out 
across  the  field.  We  all  took  after  it.  It  could  run 
much  faster  than  we  could,  but  Hen  happened  to  hit  it 
with  a  stone  and  stunned  it.  When  we  got  up  to  it  it 
was  helpless,  and  he  held  it  up  by  the  tail  and  hit  it 
over  the  head  with  a  stick.  Still  holding  it  firmly  by  the 
tail  he  started  back  toward  our  play  houses. 

"What  you  going  to  do  with  it,  Hen?"  asked  Essie. 

"Don't  know  yet." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Margaret  excitedly,  "let's 
cook  it  and  play  we  have  company  for  dinner." 

"And  get  chips  for  plates  and  have  candy  too,"  sug- 
gested Essie. 

"Where  would  we  cook  it  ?"  asked  Hen  practically. 

"Why,  build  a  fire  in  one  of  our  play  houses,"  said 
Margaret. 

"I'll  tell  you  a  better  thing  than  that,"  Hen  suggested 
seriously.  "Why  not  marry  Ben  and  Essie  and  cook  the 
rat  for  a  wedding  feast?" 

The  suggestion  was  just  like  Hen — original,  bold.  Be- 
sides, I  liked  the  idea  immensely.  I  wanted  to  marry 
Essie.  But  Margaret  was  so  taken  aback  by  the  daring 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  47 

nature  of  the  plan  that  it  was  some  little  time  before 
she  could  reply.  Then  she  agreed  enthusiastically,  and 
she  and  Hen  went  about  making  all  things  ready. 

Hen  went  off  to  our  house,  and  returned  in  a  little 
bit  with  two  bundles.  He  laid  these  down  and  went  over 
to  Margaret. 

"Here  is  a  match.  You  build  a  fire  and  cook  the  rat. 
I'll  marry  them  over  by  that  stump,  and  then  we  will  all 
come  back  over  for  the  feast." 

He  came  over  and  picked  up  one  of  the  bundles.  It 
was  mother's  long  black  riding  skirt. 

"Essie,  you  put  this  on  for  your  wedding  dress,  and 
get  in  the  house  here.  Ben  will  go  in  and  get  you  and 
bring  you  over  to  the  stump  where  I  will  marry  you." 

When  she  started  in  Hen  picked  up  the  other  bundle. 
It  was  one  of  father's  long  Prince  Albert  coats.  He 
put  it  on  and  it  reached  nearly  to  the  ground.  From 
the  pocket  of  it  he  got  a  book  entitled,  "Pastor's  Ideal 
Vest  Pocket  Ritual.." 

"What's  in  the  book?"  I  asked  gleefully. 

"That's  what  you  get  married  out  of.  I  will  go  over 
to  the  stump.  You  go  in  and  get  Essie  and  come  over." 

When  I  got  to  the  play  house  I  found  Margaret  and 
Essie  struggling  with  the  riding  skirt.  It  was  way  too 
long,  but  Margaret  had  solved  the  difficulty  by  offering 
herself  as  train-bearer. 

"I'll  walk  along  behind  and  hold  it  up  for  you,"  she 
explained. 

"Come  on,  Essie.  Hen's  ready."  I  offered  her  my 
arm  and  felt  very  proud  and  important. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  and  we  marched  out. 
Margaret  walked  solemnly  behind  holding  up  the  skirt. 
Hen  was  standing  gravely  up  on  the  stump,  his  right 
hand  shoved  part  way  into  the  breast  of  the  Prince  Al- 
bert, and  the  Ritual  in  his  left  hand — Father's  character- 


48  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

istic  attitude.  As  we  approached  he  called  out  in  father's 
best  voice, 

"Who  comes  here?" 

This  unexpected  question  took  us  so  by  surprise  that 
we  halted  abruptly.  I  didn't  know  just  what  Hen  ex- 
pected us  to  say.  But  I  suddenly  remembered  a  story 
father  had  told  us  about  the  war.  When  a  sentry  saw  any 
one  coming  toward  him  he  called  out,  Who  comes  there? 
and  the  person  would  answer,  A  friend.  So  when  Hen 
sternly  repeated  his  question,  I  said, 

"A  friend." 

"It  is  well,"  he  said.    "Approach  ye." 

We  stopped  directly  in  front  of  him,  and  he  opened  to 
the  marriage  service,  knitted  his  brow  and  began. 

"Dearly  beloved  brethren,  we  have  gathered  together  in 
the  sight  of  God  and  of  this  company,"  and  he  looked 
impressively  about  him.  But  just  then  the  wind  blew  the 
pages  over  and  he  lost  the  place.  He  began  to  look  for 
it  hastily,  but  it  seemed  he  couldn't  find  it.  He  got  red. 
I  could  see  his  anger  mount.  Hen  hated  to  appear  at  a 
disadvantage.  He  looked  up  aggressively. 

"Any  way,"  he  finished,  "I  pronounce  you  man  and 
wife  forever.  Now  hurry  and  get  that  thing  off  Essie, 
and  we  will  go  and  eat  the  rat." 

Margaret  had  cooked  the  rat  on  the  fire.  It  was  smoked 
quite  a  bit,  but  she  had  divided  it  neatly  into  four  pieces, 
and  we  each  had  one  served  on  a  chip.  I  had  a  hind  leg 
and  picked  it  up  gingerly.  Margaret  had  the  other  hind 
leg,  but  she  did  not  pick  it  up.  She  sat  looking  at  us 
with  an  "I  won't  believe  it  until  I  see  it"  expression  on 
her  face.  She  had  cleaned  the  rat.  I  bit  off  a  bite  and 
relished  it.  It  was  good.  Aside  from  the  taste  of  wood 
smoke,  it  tasted  about  like  rabbit.  It  was  Essie  that 
started  it. 

"Ugh!"  she  exclaimed,  and  threw  her  piece  as  far  as 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  49 

she  could  send  it.  "I  wouldn't  eat  a  RAT!"  and  she 
shuddered. 

"Neither  would  I,"  Margaret  said  calmly. 

"Did  you  eat  any  of  it,  Ben?"  Essie  demanded. 

I  had  sheepishly  hid  my  piece. 

"Huh !  Do  you  think  I  would  eat  a  rat  ?"  I  said  indig- 
nantly. 

"Listen,"  Margaret  said  suddenly.  "There's  mother 
calling  for  us.  We  will  have  to  go  home  now.  Come  on, 
Ben." 

Off  we  went.  When  we  neared  the  house  Margaret 
saw  mother. 

"What  do  you  want  with  us?"  she  asked. 

"We  want  you  in  the  house." 

"What  for?" 

"Come  on,  now,"  mother  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh !"    Margaret  said  understandingly,  and  we  went  in. 

Father  sat  before  the  fire  looking  grave.  We  all  sat 
down  and  were  very  still.  Mother's  hands  were  folded 
in  her  lap.  Father  turned  to  me. 

"Ben,  do  you  know  whose  birthday  this  is  ?"  he  asked. 

"Ytes,  sir,"  I  replied  promptly.  "Grouchie  McRand  was 
born  on  Christmas  morning.  He  has  a  little  pup,  too. 
Old  McRand  just  got  it  for  him  yesterday." 

"Never  say  Old  McRand,  Ben.  Say  Mr.  McRand. 
But  I  didn't  mean  somebody  around  here.  Who  was  born 
on  Christmas  day  away  back  yonder?" 

Then  I  knew  what  he  meant,  and  in  a  low  whisper  told 
him. 

"That  is  right.  Now  before  we  go  out  I  want  to  read 
something." 

He  produced  a  worn  Bible,  turned  through  it  rever- 
ently, found  the  place  for  which  he  was  looking,  and 
read. 


50 

And  there  were  in  the  same  country  shepherds  abid- 
ing in  the  field,  keeping  watch  over  their  flock  by  night. 
And  lo,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  them,  and  the 
Glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round  about  them:  and  they 
were  sore  afraid.  And  the  angel  said  unto  them,  fear 
not:  for  behold  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy, 
which  shall  be  to  all  people.  For  unto  you  is  born  this 
day  in  the  city  of  David  a  Saviour,  which  is  Christ  the 
Lord.  And  it  shall  be  a  sign  unto  you;  Ye  shall 
find  the  babe  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes,  lying  in  a 
manger. 

And  suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel  a  multitude 
of  the  heavenly  host  praising  God,  and  saying,  Glory 
to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will 
toward  men. 

After  he  had  finished  reading  we  all  sat  for  some  time 
in  silence.  Finally  I  heard  Hen  whispering  to  mother. 

"Ask  him,  mother,"  he  wheedled. 

"Wait  awhile." 

He  waited  a  minute  or  two.     Then  he  began  again. 

"Ask  him." 

"Tommy,  Henry  wants  to  know  if  you  will  go  rabbit 
hunting  this  afternoon,"  she  finally  said. 

"O-ho,"  he  said  jubilantly.  "O-ho.  So  that's  what 
you  are  after,  is  it?" 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  fireplace.  Up  over  it,  rest- 
ing on  two  wooden  pegs  that  had  been  driven  into  auger 
holes  in  the  wall,  was  the  long  squirrel  rifle.  It  was  a 
big  heavy  gun.  The  stock  was  made  of  curly  maple,  and 
shone  a  deep  dark  red.  The  shoulder-piece  had  long 
metal  tips  at  top  and  bottom,  and  there  was  a  little  cup 
with  a  tiny  lid,  in  the  side  of  the  stock  for  tallow.  The 
bore  was  so  large  I  could  run  my  finger  down  the  muz- 
zle, and  I  could  see  the  deep  rifles  twisting  down  the 
barrel.  The  outside  of  the  barrel  was  octagon,  the  sight 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  51 

was  narrow  and  fine,  while  the  bead  was  made  of  silver. 
Father  took  the  gun  down  and  looked  it  over  carefully. 

"Maybe,  we  had  just  as  well  go  out  for  a  little  while. 
We  might  get  a  rabbit  or  two.  Who  knows  ?" 

He  took  down  the  shot  pouch  also.  The  great  crooked 
horn  that  held  the  powder  was  scraped  so  thin  that  the 
powder  could  be  seen  through  it.  It  was  a  little  over 
half  full.  He  lifted  the  flap  of  the  thick  cowhide  shot 
pouch  and  ran  his  hand  inside,  pulling  out  caps,  tow  and 
cloth.  There  were  also  a  few  bullets.  He  counted  them. 

"Only  six,  Henry.  You  get  the  lead  and  mould  some 
more  while  I  clean  out  the  gun." 

Hen  lost  no  time  in  obeying.  He  got  the  heavy  iron 
bullet  moulds  that  worked  like  a  pair  of  pincers  and  were 
hollowed  out  into  a  mould  the  size  of  the  gun  bore.  He 
found  the  ladle,  put  about  half  a  bar  of  lead  in  it,  and 
put  it  on  the  kitchen  stove.  Soon  the  lead  began  to  flat- 
ten out,  and  under  the  dull  brown  coating  on  top  it  ap- 
peared a  shimmering  white.  Hen  then  began  to  pour  the 
lead  into  the  moulds,  opening  them  and  knocking  out  each 
bullet,  while  I  stood  at  one  side  clipping  off  the  necks. 
We  made  nine  and  went  back  into  the  living  room. 

Father  was  still  cleaning  out  the  gun.  He  had  wrapped 
some  tow  on  the  long  wooden  ramrod,  and  was  slowly 
wiping  it  out.  When  he  had  finished,  he  slung  the  shot 
pouch  over  his  shoulder,  and  we  were  ready  to  start. 

As  we  went  out  of  the  door,  we  found  Ponto  on  hand, 
ready  and  eager  to  go  along.  A  member  of  the  Oakum 
Mills  Church  had  given  him  to  father  not  long  after  old 
Bounce  went  mad,  and  we  thought  a  lot  of  him.  He 
looked  a  lot  like  Bounce,  and  was  a  fine  dog.  Of  course 
I  did  not  think  quite  as  much  of  him  as  I  had  of  Bounce. 
I  was  sure  no  other  dog  could  ever  take  his  place.  And 
yet — well,  Ponto  was  all  right ! 

He  jumped  up  when  he  saw  us  coming,  and  when  he 


52  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

saw  the  gun  also,  he  became  even  more  excited.  He 
whined  eagerly  and  jumped  up  to  lick  our  hands.  Then 
yelping  with  great  delight  he  ran  off  toward  the  woods. 

But  father  called  him  back. 

"You  go  back,  Ponto.    We  don't  want  you  to-day." 

At  the  sound  of  father's  voice  his  tail  dropped.  But 
he  looked  up  as  if  he  certainly  had  been  mistaken — as 
if  it  could  not  be  true. 

"Go  back,  sir.    Go  back.    Not  to-day." 

His  whole  body  drooped.  His  tail  fell  pathetically, 
and  he  trotted  off  toward  the  house.  He  sat  down  at 
the  corner  and  looked  after  us.  I  glanced  back  to  see 
what  he  was  doing,  and  he  evidently  thought  there  was 
still  hope,  for  he  laid  back  his  ears  and  wagged  his  tail. 
But  I  shook  my  head  and  he  dropped  back  down  again. 

We  went  up  the  hill  back  of  the  house,  crossed  the  old 
brush  fence  that  surrounded  our  corn  field,  and  struck  di- 
rectly into  the  woods.  It  was  a  cold  day,  but  to  me  the 
woods  always  seemed  warm  and  friendly.  The  timber 
had  never  been  cleared  off  the  land,  and  the  great  trees 
flung  high  their  mighty  trunks.  The  little  saplings  be- 
neath them  grew  trim  and  clean. 

We  came  to  a  deep  cavity  in  the  mountain-side  where 
in  years  long  gone  by  some  primitive  dweller  in  the  land 
had  digged  for  ore.  Little  indicated  that  it  was  there 
now,  save  the  mound  of  earth  at  one  side.  The  cavity 
itself  was  filled  with  leaves.  In  a  spirit  of  deviltry  I 
jumped  from  the  mound  at  the  side  over  into  the  hole. 
I  lit  in  the  soft  leaves,  and  sunk  far  in. 

Then  beneath  me  there  was  a  great  upheaval.  The 
leaves  began  to  move  as  though  some  sleeping  monster 
beneath  had  been  aroused  by  my  ill-timed  action  and  were 
getting  up  preparatory  to  summary  revenge.  I  was  terri- 
fied, and  began  frantically  to  climb  out  of  the  pit.  I  called 
loudly  to  Hen  who  stood  off  a  little  ways,  mouth  agape, 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  53 

looking  on  in  amazement.  To  my  great  surprise  father 
began  to  laugh,  and  as  my  struggles  increased,  so  did 
his  laughter.  He  fairly  roared,  and  then  began  to  shout 
facetious  directions. 

"Jump  a  little  higher,  Ben.  Grab  a  root.  That's 
it.  Now  heave." 

I  finally  succeeded  in  getting  out,  and  then  turned 
to  see  what  strange  monster  I  had  aroused.  There  was 
still  a  great  shuffling  of  the  leaves.  Soon  a  small  slim 
razor-back  darted  out  of  the  leaves  and  ran  nimbly 
down  the  hill,  followed  by  another  and  yet  another.  I 
was  deeply  chagrined. 

"Scared  them  out  of  their  nest,  Ben,"  father  said. 

"I  didn't  know  they  slept  in  places  like  that,"  I  an- 
swered him. 

"Sure  they  do.  You  will  find  them  in  lots  of  places 
just  like  that.  And  it's  not  bad,  either.  Wouldn't  mind 
to  try  it  myself,  sometime." 

I  thought  the  same  thing.  Undoubtedly  it  would  be 
cosy  to  burrow  down  into  the  dry  leaves,  out  of  reach 
of  the  wind,  and  snuggle  down  to  sleep. 

Then  father  told  us  something  about  the  doings  of  that 
primitive  people  who,  long  ago,  had  lived  around  Bar- 
ren Rocks.  From  the  many  arrow-heads  found  scat- 
tered over  the  country  it  was  pretty  clear  that  they  were 
Indians.  And  yet  the  hieroglyphs  found  carved  on  the 
cliffs  about,  made  it  clear  also  that  they  had  advanced 
farther  in  the  use  of  the  alphabet,  at  least,  than  is 
usually  thought.  For  these  hieroglyphs  were  evidently 
of  the  phonetic  and  not  the  ideographic  kind.  They 
stood  for  sounds,  and  not  for  isolated  objects.  Fur- 
ther than  this,  the  many  ore  pits  on  the  mountains 
testified  to  a  crude  form  of  mining  ores. 

From  these  facts  father  built  up  his  conception  of 
those  primitive  peoples.  Not  warriors,  but  hunters, 


54  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

mainly;  not  altogether  savage,  but  possessed  of  a  rude 
form  of  civilisation,  more  like  a  decadent  grandeur  than 
an  embryonic  culture.  And  they  were  strong  men 
and  daring.  None  but  the  strong  could  have  left  the 
marks  they  had  left;  none  but  the  daring  would  have 
hung  out  over  the  cliff's  edge  to  chisel  a  message  to 
those  that  would  follow. 

And  listening  to  him  my  imagination  was  fired  by 
pictures  of  that  long  past  day.  I  peopled  the  hills 
with  sturdy  hunters ;  saw  the  white  smoke  of  a  hun- 
dred camp  fires ;  and  heard  the  shouts  of  ancient  revels. 

But  Hen  was  not  so  interested.  He  had  heard  it  all 
before.  I  had  too,  for  that  matter,  for  father  had  a 
way  of  telling  a  thing  over  and  over  again.  But  I 
never  failed  to  be  interested  in  the  stories  of  those 
whose  home  ours  had  been  in  earlier  day. 

Hen,  however,  was  not  greatly  impressed.  While 
father  talked  to  me,  he  had  gone  on  in  front,  looking  on 
all  sides  for  some  signs  of  game.  Soon  he  stopped. 
He  looked  back  at  us,  and  motioned  mysteriously.  With 
great  care,  we  made  our  way  up  to  him.  He  pointed 
to  the  foot  of  a  gum  tree  that  stood  not  many  yards 
away.  We  saw  a  big  rabbit  sitting  there,  humped  up 
into  a  compact  ball.  It  looked  very  funny  and  stupid, 
with  its  big  pink  ears  sticking  up.  Father  put  the  rifle 
to  his  shoulder  and  took  careful  aim.  Simultaneously 
with  the  report  of  the  gun,  the  rabbit  jumped  high  into 
the  air  and  fell  back  limply  to  the  ground.  Greatly 
excited,  I  ran  and  picked  him  up. 

We  had  travelled  in  a  circle,  and  were  on  our  way 
(jack  home.  In  front  of  us  a  grey  squirrel  hurried  up 
a  big  chestnut  oak.  He  climbed  clear  to  the  top,  where 
he  stopped,  hugging  the  limb  closely.  The  wind  flirted 
with  his  tail,  doubtless  to  his  great  dislike.  It  was  a 
long  shot,  and  difficult,  but  father  walked  off  a  little  dis- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  55 

tance  and  took  aim.  I  looked  steadily  at  the  squirrel. 
When  the  gun  went  off,  I  saw  him  bulge  out  from  the 
vlimb,  hang  for  an  instant  by  one  of  his  front  toes,  and 
then  fall  to  the  ground. 

Father  came  down  laughing. 

"Well,  now,  that  was  a  pretty  good  shot,"  he  said. 
Then  after  a  moment's  examination,  "Suppose  we  go 
home  now,  boys.  We  have  had  our  little  hunt,  and  by 
the  time  we  get  there  it  will  be  time  to  do  up  the  work." 

As  we  were  nearing  home,  I  crossed  over  a  dead  log 
and  noticed  tracks  in  the  soft  earth  at  one  side. 

"Father,  here  is  a  'possum's  track,"  I  called. 

He  came  over  and  examined  the  track  closely. 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  a  'possum's  track?" 

"Because  it  is  heavy  at  the  heel." 

He  grinned. 

"Sure  enough.  That's  just  what  it  is.  Henry,  call 
Ponto.  He  may  be  able  to  track  it  to  its  hole  if  the 
scent  isn't  too  old." 

"Not  much  danger,"  Hen  said,  but  he  called  Ponto 
nevertheless. 

Hen  did  not  think  much  of  Ponto.  He  claimed  that 
he  was  no  good,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  declaring 
his  conviction.  Father,  on  the  other  hand,  stoutly  stood 
up  for  the  dog,  and  he  now  waited  for  him  with  an  air 
of  conviction. 

Soon  he  came  bounding  through  the  bushes  in  a  very 
delirium  of  excitement. 

"Here  he  is,"  Hen  said  contemptuously. 

"Here,  Ponto,"  father  called,  and  pointed  to  the  tracks. 

He  sniffed  nervously  around  for  a  moment,  whined 
eagerly,  and  stopped. 

Hen  snorted. 

"I  knew  it." 

"Hunt  him  up,  Ponto,"  father  urged. 


56  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Again  he  sniffed  at  the  tracks,  and  this  time,  after 
circling  around  a  time  or  two,  started  off  at  a  business- 
like trot. 

"I  knew  it,"  father  cried  in  great  glee,  and  we  made 
after  him. 

Up  the  hill,  across  a  hollow,  over  some  rocks — and 
then  we  lost  sight  of  him.  But  pretty  soon  we  heard 
him  bark,  and  went  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  on  the 
run.  He  was  at  the  side  of  a  big  flat  rock  when  we 
found  him,  biting  at  some  frozen  roots  and  vainly  try- 
ing to  dig  his  way  in. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  and  father  was  jubilant. 
"That's  it,  Ponto.  Dig  him  out." 

Ponto  redoubled  his  efforts  and  threw  the  dirt  in  a 
veritable  hail  behind  him.  Occasionally  he  stopped, 
crowded  his  head  into  the  hole  and  snuffed  forcibly. 

Father  cut  a  long  stick,  left  a  heavy  fork  on  the  small 
end,  and  punched  into  the  hole.  For  several  minutes 
he  punched  carefully,  and  then  he  began  to  twist. 

"Boys,  I've  got  him,"  he  cried. 

He  twisted  more,  and  still  more,  and  then  began  to 
pull  toward  him  slowly.  From  within  the  hole  came  a 
dull  noise,  as  of  something  making  a  desperate  effort  to 
resist  being  pulled  out. 

"Get  ready,  Ponto,"  father  urged. 

But  Ponto  needed  no  urging.  He  heard  the  noise, 
and  as  it  drew  nearer,  he  tried  to  wedge  himself  into  the 
hole.  He  stood  there,  tongue  out,  eyes  snapping,  wait- 
ing. 

And  when  at  last  the  big  white  'possum  was  pulled 
out,  it  gave  up  all  resistance,  and  lay  as  if  dead.  Ponto 
had  his  reward,  and  did  the  rest. 

Proudly  carrying  the  rabbit,  the  squirrel  and  the  'pos- 
sum, I  went  ahead  of  the  others  home.  I  went  in  and 
showed  mother  what  we  had  got,  and  she  was  delighted. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  57 

Hen  and  I  did  up  the  work,  while  father  dressed  the 
game.  When  we  got  through  it  was  dark.  I  was  ter- 
ribly hungry,  and  so  was  Hen.  When  we  went  into  the 
living  room  to  warm,  he  did  not  stop  long,  but  slipped 
out  to  the  kitchen.  Before  long  he  returned,  a  bewil- 
dered expression  on  his  face.  Mother  sat  before  the  fire 
rocking,  and  he  looked  at  her  quizzically. 

I  sat  for  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  then  I  went  out 
to  the  kitchen.  It  was  cold  and  dark.  There  was  no  fire 
in  the  stove,  and  not  the  slightest  sign  of  supper.  I  felt 
over  to  the  safe,  but  it  was  closed.  I  was  greatly  dis- 
couraged. Going  back  into  the  living  room,  I  encoun- 
tered Hen's  troubled  gaze,  understood,  and  returned  it. 
Margaret  also  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  seemingly  without 
a  thought.  Hen  came  over  to  me. 

"Did  you  see  anything?" 

"Not  a  bite." 

"Maybe  we  won't  have  any." 

My  heart  sank. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  where  is  it?"  he  demanded,  and  I  had  no  an- 
swer. 

Father  came  in  then,  and  looked  at  Hen  and  me  with 
a  smile. 

"Well,  boys,  after  our  big  dinner,  we  have  decided 
not  to  have  any  supper.  We  must  let  mother  rest,  you 
know." 

Hen  looked  as  Lucifer  must  have  looked  when  he 
heard  that  a  greater  had  been  set  above  him.  Gearly 
the  idea  was  not  to  his  liking. 

"I  am  sorry,  boys.  But  you  see  how  it  is,"  father 
continued. 

I  did  not  say  anything,  but  went  over  to  mother.  The 
last  word  had  to  come  from  her  before  I  gave  up.  She 
looked  at  me — and  laughed. 


58  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Now,  Tommy,  you  go  and  get  that  basket,"  she 
directed. 

Father  went  out  into  the  little  room  off  the  kitchen 
and  soon  came  back  with  a  big  basket.  It  was  filled  with 
potatoes,  eggs,  apples  and  chestnuts.  He  was  clearly 
having  the  time  of  his  life. 

"Now,  boys,  here  is  where  we  have  some  fun.  As 
soon  as  the  fire  dies  down  a  little  more,  we  will  roast 
these  potatoes  and  eggs  and  chestnuts  in  the  ashes. 
Mother  will  bake  a  pone  in  the  oven  there,  too,  and  we 
will  have  a  big  time." 

My,  my,  what  fun  it  was.  That  was  just  like  mother. 
It  was  ever  so  much  more  fun  than  just  eating  at  the 
table.  She  made  a  place  in  the  ashes  for  the  big  earth- 
enware oven,  filled  it  with  the  corn  dough,  put  on  the  lid 
and  covered  it  over  with  the  red  coals.  While  it  was 
baking,  we  put  the  potatoes  and  chestnuts  in  the  ashes, 
and  also  the  eggs,  first  pouring  water  over  them  so 
they  would  not  burst. 

They  were  all  done  about  the  same  time,  the  potatoes 
taking  a  little  longer  than  the  rest.  When  mother  opened 
the  old  oven,  the  hot  brown  pone  filled  the  room  with  a 
delicious  odour.  We  dragged  the  eggs  out  and  peeled 
them,  turning  them  over  and  over  to  keep  from  being 
burned.  Then  came  the  potatoes,  and  the  feast  was  com- 
plete. 

My,  how  good  it  was.  And  when  we  had  eaten  the 
pone  and  the  eggs  and  the  potatoes,  we  raked  out  the 
big  hot  chestnuts  and  ate  them  too.  Last  of  all  came 
the  apples,  which  father  had  got  out  of  the  big  hole  in 
the  garden  the  day  before.  They  were  mellow  and 
cold,  and  we  ate  until  we  couldn't  hold  any  more. 

After  we  were  through,  I  took  off  my  boots  and  sat 
down  on  the  floor  near  the  fireplace.  Father  began  to 
tell  us  one  of  those  wonderful  stories  he  had  doubtless 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  59 

got  from  his  own  mother,  for  she  was  a  wonderful  story- 
teller. 

It  was  about  the  Lost  Boy.  The  little  fellow  had  gone 
off  into  the  woods  in  search  of  flowers,  and  had  failed 
to  return. 

"After  an  hour  or  two  his  mother  missed  him,  and 
went  out  into  the  yard  and  called.  He  did  not  answer. 
She  went  out  to  the  stable  and  looked  for  him,  but  he 
was  not  there.  Then  she  became  frightened.  There 
had  been  stories  of  tramps  passing  through  the  coun- 
try, and  she  shuddered  to  think  what  might  have  hap- 
pened. Her  husband  was  away,  and  would  not  be  home 
until  evening.  .  .  ." 

I  tried  hard  to  rouse  myself  to  listen,  but  it  was  cosy 
and  warm  down  where  I  sat.  ...  I  closed  my  eyes.  .  .  . 
"And  at  last  he  came  home.  She  told  him  that  Jimmy 
was  lost;  that  he  had  been  gone  for  hours.  He  looked 
everywhere,  and  at  last  blew  the  conch  shell  for  the 
neighbours  .  .  .  the  search  party  scattered  in  all  direc- 
tions .  .  .  two  shots  from  a  gun  meant  he  was 
found.  ..."  I  heard  the  words  as  if  they  came  from 
far  away.  Father's  voice  sounded  unreal  .  .  .  maybe  it 
was  not  father  at  all  ...  "and  she  stood  in  the  door  to 
listen  for  the  shots.  .  .  .  Would  she  never  hear?  .  .  . 
Then  from  far  over  the  mountain,  one  shot  .  .  .  she 
waited  .  .  .  one  shot  meant  trouble  .  .  .  would  the  other 
never  be  fired  .  .  then  another.  . 


Chapter  4 

THE  teacher  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
leering  about  at  us.  His  great  uneven  red  mouth 
was  spread  in  what  he  doubtless  intended  for  a  jovial 
smile. 

"The  school  is  about  over  for  the  year,  students,"  he 
began,  clearing  his  throat  with  such  vehemence  that  I 
looked  to  see  the  top  of  his  head  fly  right  off.  "We 
have  had,  on  the  whole,  a  very  successful  year.  With 
but  few  exceptions,  the  scholars  have  advanced  as  well 
as  I  had  expected.  We  now  want  to  begin  to  prepare  for 
the  last  day  of  school.  Talk  it  over  with  your  parents 
to-night,  and  if  any  student  can  find  a  good  selection  to 
recite,  bring  it  around  to-morrow.  We  want  to  make 
the  last  day  a  fitting  close  for  the  year." 

The  last  day  of  school!  That  was  the  time  when 
Barren  Rocks  paid  its  tribute  to  education.  Everybody 
for  miles  around  came  in.  Few  drove,  for  the  roads 
were  too  bad  for  much  driving.  Many  walked,  but  most 
everybody  rode  horseback.  And  on  the  last  day  of 
school  they  would  come — from  up  the  river  and  from 
down,  from  the  ridges  and  from  far  back  among  the 
hills.  The  men  galloping  along  ahead,  running  races 
and  trading  horses ;  the  women  in  their  long  black  riding 
skirts  sedately  bringing  up  the  rear!  And  by  the  time 
they  all  arrived,  the  playground  would  resemble  the 
closing  days  of  a  big  meeting.  There  would  be  recita- 
tions, dialogues,  reading;  addresses  by  the  minister  and 

60 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  61 

the  teacher;  and  early  in  the  afternoon  a  great  dinner, 
usually  out  under  the  pines.  And  after  the  dinner,  the  * 
women  would  visit  while  they  gathered  up  their  knives 
and  forks  and  spoons,  while  the  men  played  baseball, 
leap-frog,  and  ran  races.  Finally  the  untying  of  horses, 
a  few  loudly-called  good-byes,  and  each  faced  the  long 
path  back  home. 

I  went  home  in  a  transport  of  joy,  and  told  mother  all 
about  it.  Father  also  listened,  and  when  I  was  through 
he  broke  in. 

"It  is  too  far  off  to  think  much  about  it  yet  a  while, 
son.  You  don't  want  to  get  excited  over  it  so  soon." 

But  mother  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  There  was  a 
glow  in  her  cheeks.  She  pulled  me  over  to  her  excit- 
edly; and  we  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"It's  great,  sonnie,"  she  began.  "We  will  all  be  getting 
ready  for  it.  And  I  can  maybe  get  a  dress  of  that  sateen 
and  have  it  ready  to  wear.  Margaret  will  wear  her  good 
gingham.  Tommy  can  wear  his  new  Prince  Albert." 

"And  I  will  speak  a  piece,"  I  put  in. 

"Yes,  you  can  speak  a  piece,  and  Henry  and  Mar- 
garet will  get  up  a  dialogue." 

"I  know  what  I  want  to  say,"  and  I  danced  around 
her.  I  usually  bounced  around  when  I  got  excited. 

"What  is  it,  sonnie?" 

"The  one  that  goes,  'Come,  little  leaf,  said  the  wind 
one  day.' " 

"Just  the  thing.  And  Henry  and  Margaret  can  get 
Amiel's  Dialogue  on  Hell.  How  fine  it  will  be !  I  must 
go  and  see  about  that  sateen." 

She  went  in  where  father  was  while  I  explored  the 
safe.  We  had  no  cupboard  in  our  house,  but  we  had  a 
big  safe  made  of  oak.  It  was  not  nailed  together,  but 
fastened  with  wooden  plugs.  The  doors  were  made  of 
tin,  all  gouged  full  of  holes.  Down  in  the  lower  cor- 


62  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

ner  where  I  could  reach  easily,  there  was  always  sure 
to  be  something  good.  Mother  said  I  should  eat  only  at 
meal  time,  but  always  when  I  came  home  from  school 
there  was  something  tucked  away  in  that  corner  of  the 
safe.  This  time  it  was  a  big  apple  and  some  biscuit  crust 
soaked  in  coffee.  We  called  it  soak,  and  it  was  one  of  the 
things  we  liked  best  of  all.  After  I  had  eaten  the  apple 
and  the  soak,  I  went  into  the  living  room.  Mother  was 
sitting  on  father's  knee  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"You  think  it  can't  be  done,  then?"  she  sighed,  and 
I  thought  her  lips  quivered. 

"I  wouldn't  say  that,  honey.  You  know  they  always 
run  behind  in  the  winter  time.  Nearly  all  I  have  re- 
ceived in  over  a  month  has  been  in  wheat  and  corn. 
I  don't  object  to  that,  for  we  need  it.  But  it  pinches 
us  just  a  little." 

"But  it's  a  month  away  yet." 

"That  is  just  what  I  mean.  I  don't  say  it  cannot  be 
done.  Maybe  something  will  turn  up  yet.  I  go  to  the 
River  appointment  in  two  weeks,  and  I  might  get  some- 
thing then.  Don't  give  up  hope." 

Mother  looked  at  him  quickly  and  kissed  him. 

"Tommy!"  she  said. 

The  next  few  days  were  a  whirl  of  excitement.  At 
school  we  took  two  hours  off  every  afternoon  to  get  the 
programme  ready,  and  at  home  we  were  working  on  our 
pieces.  It  was  at  school  that  it  was  most  real. 

Ellie  Herbert  was  to  speak  a  piece  called,  "Diamonds 
in  the  Rough."  She  spoke  it  every  afternoon,  when 
her  name  was  called,  just  as  it  would  be  on  the  last  day. 
It  ended  up, 

It  ain't  the  britches  or  the  coat  you'll  find  that  makes  the  man. 
There's  many  a  real  jewel,  too,  though  a  diamond  in  the  rough. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  63 

Ellie  drawled  her  words  out  through  her  nose,  and 
would  drawl  the  last  lines  out  with  a  kind  of  triumphant 
whine.  Rude  Hamilton  was  married  and  lived  just 
across  the  river  from  us.  When  she  heard  how  Ellie 
said  her  piece  she  said  to  mother: 

"That's  all  right  enough  now.  But  I'll  bet  the  time 
comes  when  she  will  be  glad  to  get  any  man,  whether 
he's  a  diamond  in  the  rough  or  not.  I  wonder  what 
makes  them  Herbert  children  so  mortal  ugly,  Sister 
Rhodes?" 

Grouchie  McRand  had  a  long  piece  of  poetry  entitled, 
"Just  To  Be  Kind."  It  started  off, 

Just  to  be  kind  is  my  only  thought; 

Just  to  be  kind  and  true. 
I  help  in  distress  wherever  I  ought, 

Just  to  be  kind  and  true. 

Hen  said  a  girl  ought  to  have  that  piece,  and  Grouchie 
did  look  funny  when  he  stood  up  and  snarled  it  off. 

Hen's  and  Margaret's  dialogue  was  fine.  There  was 
one  place  in  it  that  never  failed  to  work  me  all  up. 
Hen  said,  in  a  sceptical  disdainful  way,  "There  is  no 
hell." 

Then  Margaret  replied  desperately,  waving  her  arms 
as  if  to  implore  the  universe  to  be  her  witness : 

"No  Hell?    There's  Deacon  Skinflint 

With  his  mortgages  and  rum, 
Destroying  widows'  houses 

And  driving  them  from  home!" 

She  said  the  last  line  in  such  a  heart-broken  voice  that 
I  always  boiled  with  indignation  against  Deacon  Skin- 
flint, and  wondered  how  Hen  could  be  unmoved. 

One  evening  but  a  few  days  before  the  last  day  of 
school  the  teacher  walked  home  with  us.  He  said  he 
wanted  to  see  father  and  mother.  I  knew  what  he 


64  The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

wanted  with  father,  for  father  was  always  asked  to  ad- 
dress the  students,  but  I  couldn't  think  what  he  wanted 
to  see  mother  for.  To  find  out  I  hung  around  the  room 
while  they  were  talking.  After  asking  father  to  make 
an  address,  he  cleared  his  throat  as  he  always  did  before 
introducing  a  new  subject. 

"And  Sister  Rhodes,  I  would  like  for  you  to  help  us 
out." 

"Why,  what  could  I  do?"  mother  asked  surprised. 

"I  thought  maybe  you  would  sing  for  us." 

There  was  a  silence.  I  was  looking  at  mother.  I  hoped 
she  would  sing,  for  I  loved  to  hear  her.  When  she  sang 
it  wasn't  dry  like  it  was  when  father  preached.  His 
voice  was  hard  and  measured,  and  I  did  not  like  to  hear 
him,  only  occasionally  when  he  got  all  worked  up.  But 
when  mother  sang  everything  was  still  and  her  voice 
got  all  soft  and  mellow,  and  I  would  feel  warm  inside. 

"Why,  Brother  Willet,  I  don't  know  whether  I  could 
sing  well  enough  or  not,"  but  I  could  see  the  old  ro- 
mantic glow  in  her  eyes,  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at 
father. 

"Of  course  she  will  sing,"  put  in  father.  "She  can 
beat  anybody  I  ever  heard  sing,"  he  finished. 

"Now,  Tommie !"  mother  said  and  blushed,  but  I  could 
see  she  was  pleased. 

"But  what  will  I  sing?"  she  inquired. 

"I  thought  you  might  sing  'The  Ninety  and  Nine/  " 
the  teacher  said. 

Shortly  after  that  he  left,  and  what  with  the  great 
excitement,  the  Last  Day  quickly  came  round.  It  was 
a  balmy  day,  the  latter  part  of  April.  I  was  tickled  that 
it  was  warm,  for  then  I  could  go  barefoot.  I  had  worn 
my  boots  all  winter,  and  although  I  had  rubbed  them 
carefully  with  tallow  the  .night  before,  I  was  greatly  re- 
lieved that  I  did  not  4iave  to  wear  them. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  65 

We  were  close  enough  to  the  schoolhouse  that  we 
walked.  Father  walked  a  little  in  advance.  Hen  and 
Margaret  came  behind,  practising  their  dialogue  as  they 
came.  I  walked  by  mother.  She  looked  dainty  and 
neat  in  her  nice  calico  dress.  She  said  she  had  fixed 
it  over  until  it  looked  as  good  as  any  sateen  dress  could. 
And  father  declared  she  looked  the  best  he  ever  saw 
her. 

I  had  to  sit  up  in  front  on  a  bench  where  all  the  others 
sat  that  were  going  to  recite,  but  I  looked  back  at  mother. 
She  smiled  up  at  me. 

The  small  children  spoke  first.  When  it  was  close 
to  my  turn  I  began  to  smother.  I  thought  wildly  for 
the  first  line  of  my  piece,  and  was  seized  with  panic 
when  I  couldn't  remember  it.  The  voice  of  the  teacher 
recalled  me. 

"The  next  on  the  programme  is  a  selection  by  Master 
Ben  Rhodes." 

I  got  up  numbly  and  went  forward.  As  soon  as  I 
began  to  move  my  composure  returned  and  I  felt  com- 
plete master  of  myself.  But  when  I  made  my  bow  and 
looked  up,  panic  again  came  upon  me.  All  I  could  see 
was  a  great  field  of  eyes,  and  every  one  seemed  fixed 
on  me  in  a  horrible  glare.  I  got  cold.  Then  I  heard 
mother's  voice. 

"Come  little  leaf "  it  prompted  gently. 

That  seemed  to  release  a  dynamo  of  pent-up  energy 
within  me.  I  recalled  the  whole  piece,  but  not  line  for 
line  in  the  natural  order.  It  came  to  me  all  at  once, 
in  bulk,  so  to  speak.  And  my  greatest  desire  was  to 
empty  myself  of  the  whole  thing  in  the  quickest  possible 
manner.  I  began  in  a  torrent,  and  the  words  fairly 
rushed  out.  No  one  could  understand  a  word  I  said,  I 
am  sure  of  that.  But  my  business  was  to  get  through 
the  lines,  and  I  did  it.  Before  the  last  line  was  finished 


66 

I  was  on  my  way  headlong  to  mother's  seat.  But  my 
very  panic  saved  the  day.  It  amused  the  people,  and 
before  I  was  off  the  platform  they  were  clapping  their 
hands  and  roaring  with  laughter.  Maybe  it  was  not  a 
compliment.  Certainly  it  might  be  looked  at  as  denoting 
something  altogether  different.  But  I  got  a  lot  of  com- 
fort out  of  it,  anyway. 

When  I  sat  down  I  at  once  began  feverishly  to  recall 
each  word  and  line.  How  had  I  said  this  particular 
part  ?  and  had  I  left  out  anything  ?  I  was  still  racking  my 
mind  trying  to  answer  these  questions  when  I  was  re- 
called to  the  present.  Hen  and  Margaret  were  giving 
their  dialogue. 

I  had  heard  them  give  it  so  many  times  that  I  knew 
just  what  it  was  about.  Hen  declared  in  the  opening 
lines  that  it  was  not  a  bad  thing  for  a  man  to  drink  rum  if 
he  wanted  to.  But  here  Margaret  disagreed  with  him 
absolutely.  She  further  said  that  every  one  that  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  business  would  go  to  hell  sure. 
This  was  Hen's  cue  to  say,  in  a  very  condescending  tone, 
that  there  is  no  hell.  And  from  that  on  the  conversa- 
tion was  magnificent,  ending  with  Margaret's  horrible 
declaration  that  she  would  like  to  poke  the  fire  when  old 
Deacon  Skinflint  at  last  arrived  in  Pluto's  realm. 

They  went  up  on  the  platform  and  bowed  low.  Hen 
thrust  his  hands  far  into  the  pockets  of  his  jean  trou- 
sers and  curled  his  lip  in  a  supercilious  smile.  Father 
had  coached  him  long  on  that  smile,  and  Hen  had  it  down 
to  perfection.  Margaret,  her  blue  gingham  coming  down 
well  below  her  knees  and  her  hair  tied  at  the  back  with 
a  big  black  ribbon,  assumed  an  air  of  patient  virtue. 
Father  had  worked  with  her,  too,  and  she  acted  the 
part  superbly. 

With  his  supercilious  leer,  Hen  made  his  initial  declara- 
tion. At  once  Margaret  took  him  up  as  one  determined 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  67 

at  all  costs  to  rid  the  world  of  mistaken  ideas.  She  de- 
clared forcefully  that  not  only  is  it  wrong  for  the  man 
that  actually  drinks,  but  it  is  also  wrong  for  the  man 
who  has  anything  to  do  with  the  business.  And  as 
though  clinching  her  argument  by  an  incontrovertible 
fact,  she  declaimed  tragically  that  all  such  traffickers 
would  end  up  in  hell.  Then  came  Hen's  most  leering 
rejoinder. 

"There  is  no  hell." 

Margaret  looked  both  shocked  and  indignant,  as  if 
she  considered  him  not  only  as  trying  to  justify  evil, 
but  also  as  doubting  divine  revelation.  She  waved  her 
arms  over  her  head  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  as 
if  imploring  high  heaven  to  be  her  witness. 

"No  Hell?    There's  Deacon  Skinflint 
With  his  mortgages  and  rum, 

Destroying  widows'  houses 
And  driving  them  from  home." 

"Huh!"  Hen  answered  her,  scoffing,  "it  is  not  true." 

And  then  Margaret  took  up  her  lines  as  a  spirited 
charger  answering  the  bugle's  call.  With  Hen  cringing 
under  her  terrible  invective,  she  denounced  him  and  his 
kind,  and  made  a  last  terrible  reference  to  the  absent 
Deacon  Skinflint,  by  ending, 

"When  you  go  down  to  hell,  old  man,  I'd  like  to 
poke  the  fire." 

There  was  wild  applause.  And  so  realistic  had  been 
the  acting  that  I  observed  some  casting  scornful  glances 
at  Hen,  as  if  he  should  be  openly  rebuked  for  taking  the 
side  of  the  ungodly. 

Old  Bill  Herringer  declared  it  was  the  best  thing  he 
ever  heard,  but  Rude  Hamilton  later  put  a  wet  blanket 
on  the  compliment  by  asserting  that  he  was  half  drunk 
when  he  said  it. 


68  The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

It  came  time  for  father's  address,  but  I  paid  little 
attention  to  what  he  said.  I  sat  waiting  impatiently  for 
mother's  song.  And  when  at  last  she  stood  up,  I  thought 
she  was  wonderful.  She  looked  tall  and  very  slender 
as  she  stood  up  by  the  teacher's  desk.  Her  neck  was 
soft  and  white  and  round  as  it  raised  above  her  dress, 
and  the  great  masses  of  her  golden  hair  were  piled 
high  upon  her  head.  She  looked  at  me  and  smiled  be- 
fore she  began,  and  I  smiled  back  at  her. 

She  was  to  sing  The  Ninety  and  Nine.  Everybody 
liked  it,  for  she  had  often  sung  it  at  the  protracted  meet- 
ings. When  she  began  the  first  verse  her  voice  was 
indescribably  sweet  and  sad,  and  following  the  words  I 
pictured  to  myself  a  fold  in  which  the  ninety-nine  lay 
snug  and  comfortable,  while  far  off  on  a  bleak  hill  there 
was  one  that  was  lost.  I  could  see  it  huddled  up,  cold 
and  wretched,  while  the  storm  raged  in  fury  about. 
But  then  the  One  braved  the  elements,  climbed  the  moun- 
tain in  the  storm,  found  the  lost  sheep  and  brought  it 
back  to  the  fold. 

Her  low  pitched  voice  filled  the  little  room,  and  the 
words  of  the  beautiful  old  hymn,  rendered  with  great 
simplicity  and  pathos,  filled  us  with  a  sense  of  the  trag- 
edy of  an  everlasting  love.  When  she  finished,  her  eyes 
were  moist. 

As  she  sat  down  by  me  I  glanced  over  at  the  teacher. 
All  was  very  still,  and  he  was  fingering  his  programme 
nervously  and  looking  hard  out  of  the  window.  When 
he  got  up  to  conclude  the  programme  with  his  speech,  his 
voice  shook,  and  I  knew  why  it  was.  Up  to  that  time  I 
had  been  unable  to  understand  him,  and  I  had  feared 
him  more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  But  I  under- 
stood him  then,  and  ever  afterward  he  was  a  different 
person  in  my  eyes. 

When  the  exercises  were  over,  a  great  crowd  pressed 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  69 

around  mother.  She  was  the  centre  of  the  group,  and 
one  after  another  told  her  how  the  song  had  been  en- 
joyed. Father  went  over  to  her  and  towered  above  her, 
his  whole  face  beaming  with  the  pride  that  was  in  him. 
Father  always  said  that  mother  would  have  been  a  great 
singer  if  she  had  not  tied  herself  down  to  a  little  place 
like  Barren  Rocks,  but  she  always  answered  by  saying 
that  she  was  satisfied  with  her  bargain. 

Henry  Tolliver  joined  the  group.  Father  often  said 
that  he  was  the  best  man  that  ever  lived.  He  was  old 
and  white-headed  and  very  kind.  He  took  father  by  the 
hand. 

"Well,  well,  Brother  Rhodes.  Shake  hands  with  me. 
And  Sister  Rhodes,  too." 

Like  the  benign  old  saint  that  he  was,  he  stood  there 
holding  both  their  hands.  He  was  deeply  moved,  and 
seemed  struggling  with  his  emotion.  Finally  he  spoke. 

"Sister  Rhodes,  I  never  expect  to  hear  that  song  sung 
like  that  again  until  I  hear  the  angel  choir  up  yonder," 
and  he  looked  up  to  the  sky. 

Mother  did  not  speak,  nor  did  father.  But  I  noticed 
him  grip  Henry  Tolliver's  hand  tighter,  and  look  at  him 
gratefully. 

But  the  group  soon  broke  up  at  the  call  of  dinner. 

The  men  had  fixed  up  a  long  table  out  under  the  pines, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  programme  the  women  had 
hurried  out  to  it  with  their  heavy  baskets.  At  the  call 
that  all  was  ready,  we  went  out.  Father  went  up  to 
the  head  of  the  table,  and  mother  and  I  stood  at  his  left. 
I  looked  down  over  the  table  with  watering  mouth. 
Great  snowy  cloths  had  been  spread  over  the  planks, 
and  on  these  had  been  placed  every  conceivable  delicacy. 
I  fixed  my  eye  upon  a  huge  platter  of  chicken  that  was 
up  near  our  end,  and  only  waited  a  word  from  mother. 

But  just  as  I  was  poised  for  immediate  action,  father 


70  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

began  to  return  thanks.  His  clear  sonorous  voice  boomed 
out  rounded  and  distinct,  and  I  though  he  never  would 
get  through.  He  asked  for  a  blessing  upon  the  school, 
and  the  teacher;  and  he  returned  thanks  for  all  our 
bounteous  mercies  until  I  almost  despaired  of  his  ever 
finishing.  But  when  at  last  he  did  quit  and  mother  took 
her  hand  off  my  arm,  I  fell  to  with  an  abandon  that 
called  forth  more  than  one  scandalised  protest  from 
mother. 

In  the  midst  of  the  meal,  mother  looked  out  and  saw 
Esther  Olliver  coming  slowly  toward  the  table.  Esther 
and  her  mother  lived  all  alone  in  a  little  cabin  up  among 
the  hills.  They  were  very  poor.  People  said  they  had 
to  go  out  in  the  morning  and  gather  greens  for  break- 
fast in  the  summer,  and  in  the  winter  no  one  knew  how 
they  did  manage  to  live. 

Esther  came  slowly  toward  the  table.  She  wore  a 
dress  of  bright  red,  and  her  cheeks  were  almost  bright 
enough  to  match  it.  Her  hair  was  done  up  very  high 
in  front  and  made  her  face  look  very  long.  Her  neck 
was  thin,  and  I  could  see  the  leaders  standing  out  on 
either  side  of  it. 

When  mother  looked  out  and  saw  her,  her  face  soft- 
ened. She  spoke  to  father  in  an  undertone. 

"Tommy,  there  is  that  poor  Olliver  girl.    She  may  be 

too  timid  to  come  up  to  the  table,  but  I  know  she  must 

•be  hungry.    You  go  out  and  invite  her  here  with  us." 

Father  went  out  and  cordially  pressed  her  to  join  us. 
She  came  rather  defiantly. 

"Come  on  here,  Esther,  and  help  yourself  with  us," 
mother  greeted  kindly. 

Esther  came  up  and  stood  by  the  table.  It  was  simply 
loaded  with  good  things,  and  I  wondered  what  she  would 
take  first.  She  looked  thin  and  famished,  and  I  was 
eager  to  watch  her  eat.  She  stood  for  a  moment,  took- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  71 

ing  boldly  over  the  table  from  end  to  end.  Then  she 
sniffed  contemptuously  and  turned  her  back  on  us  all. 

"Huh!"  she  snapped.  "There  ain't  nothin'  there  I'd 
tat."  And  with  that  she  marched  haughtily  away. 

"Poor  girl,"  was  all  mother  said,  and  she  followed  her 
retreating  figure  with  her  eyes.  Father  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  too  bad,"  he  said. 

After  dinner  was  over  the  men  all  went  down  to  the 
playground  for  some  contests.  There  was  a  ball  game 
with  the  old  men  against  the  young;  then  there  was  a 
jumping  contest,  the  standing  jump,  the  run  and  jump, 
and  the  hop,  step  and  jump.  But  the  big  thing  for  us 
was  the  running  contest. 

Of  course  I  was  not  in  it,  for  I  was  too  little.  But 
Hen  was  in  it,  and  he  had  set  his  heart  on  winning.  He 
was  long-legged,  and  he  said  that  would  count  in  his 
favour.  He  had  been  undecided  for  a  long  time  as  to 
whether  to  take  short  steps  and  many  of  them,  or  long 
steps  and  fewer.  But  he  finally  decided  that  with  his 
long  legs  it  would  be  better  to  take  long  steps  and  fewer 
of  them. 

He  had  been  practising  on  it  for  weeks,  and  he  had  it 
figured  down  to  a  fine  point.  He  was  to  roll  his  trousers 
up,  take  off  this  boots  and  run  barefooted.  And  he  had 
worked  out  an  ingenious  gait.  He  was  to  shut  his  fists 
and  stiffen  his  arms,  and  then  as  he  would  take  his  long 
strides  he  would  swing  his  arms  from  the  shoulder.  He 
said  that  by  swinging  his  arms  in  this  way  he  could  take 
much  longer  steps.  Long  before  the  time  set  for  the  run- 
ning contest  he  had  prepared  for  it.  Taking  off  his  boots 
and  rolling  his  trousers  up  to  his  knees,  he  was  swinging 
around  the  playground  in  his  grandest  style.  I  thought 
it  was  just  marvellous  the  way  he  could  cover  the  ground, 
but  I  was  a  little  doubtful  about  it  when  I  saw  Bill 
Hunter  begin  to  practise. 


72  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Bill  was  lean  and  short  and  supple,  and  he  ran  with 
the  short  step.  The  way  he  could  tear  down  that  field 
was  awful.  Hen  watched  him  closely,  but  I  saw  he  was 
not  afraid.  When  he  got  his  body  swinging  properly, 
his  strides  were  enormous. 

It  was  time  for  the  race,  and  the  teacher  marked  a 
line  for  the  starting  place.  They  were  to  run  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  playground  and  back.  All  was  ready. 
The  two  toed  the  line.  Hen,  stiff  arms  sticking  out; 
Bill  crouched  low  on  his  wiry  little  legs. 

"Go !"  the  teacher  shouted,  and  they  were  off. 

Bill  made  a  quicker  get  away,  and  for  a  little  ways 
he  was  in  the  lead. 

"Got  him  beat  a  mile,"  some  one  pronounced  pessi- 
mistically. 

"Don't  you  think  it,"  I  spoke  up. 

I  knew  that  when  Hen  got  to  swinging  properly  he 
would  catch  up.  And  sure  enough  they  had  not  gone 
more  than  halfway  down  when  he  began  to  gain.  His 
long  arms  swung  wide  and  hurled  him  forward  with 
mighty  strides.  When  they  reached  the  far  end  of  the 
playground,  they  were  even.  But  it  was  in  the  turning 
that  things  began  to  look  bad  for  Hen.  He  had  been 
going  at  such  a  terrific  gait  that  he  couldn't  stop  at  once, 
and  ran  on  past  the  line.  When  at  last  he  turned  about 
and  started  back,  Bill  had  a  pretty  good  lead. 

"Hurry,  Hen,  hurry!"     I  yelled  frantically. 

And  I  could  see  that  he  was  hurrying.  He  was  put- 
ting up  the  race  of  his  life.  Stiff-legged,  arms  swing- 
ing, each  swing  catapulting  him  forward  enormously,  he 
certainly  did  hurry.  I  saw  the  veins  standing  out  on  his 
neck.  His  breath  came  in  quick  gasps. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  cut  down  Bill's  lead.  Humped 
up  and  running  as  though  for  dear  life,  he  shot  past  the 
line  a  full  yard  ahead  of  Hen.  Hen  didn't  say  much, 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  73 

but  I  could  see  he  was  greatly  disappointed.  He  went 
off  to  one  side  and  lay  down  on  the  ground. 

The  race  was  the  last  of  the  contests.  Already  it  was 
beginning  to  get  chilly.  The  sun  had  gone  down  over 
beyond  Barren  Rocks  mountain,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
mountain  was  flung  over  the  playground.  Far  off  up 
Little  Creek  the  mountain  fastnesses  were  becoming 
gloomy  and  sombre. 

"Guess  it's  time  to  be  getting  home,"  some  one  said, 
and  others  expressed  themselves  in  like  manner. 

Those  that  were  walking  began  to  leave  first,  and  on 
the  various  mountain  paths  they  soon  could  be  seen, 
walking  slowly,  small  pygmies  of  the  great  hills.  Horses 
were  unhitched,  and,  with  man  on  in  front  and  woman 
on  behind,  they  were  turned  toward  home. 

We  were  among  the  last  to  leave,  and  when  we  topped 
the  hill  above  the  playground  we  stopped  and  looked 
back.  A  few  papers  here  and  there,  out  where  the  table 
had  been;  the  schoolhouse  shuttered  and  closed;  an  old 
bat  out  by  the  home  plate ;  the  grass  worn  off  the  play- 
ground at  the  bases ;  the  laurel  patch  dark  and  deserted. 

I  felt  very  lonely.  Everything  seemed  strange,  unnat- 
ural, forsaken.  The  sun  had  gone  down;  the  shadows 
were  deepening.  There  was  a  permeating  chill  in  the 
air.  I  had  been  glad  that  it  was  the  last  day  of  school. 
I  had  thought  eagerly  of  the  long  summer  days  with  no 
lessons  to  study;  no  hard  problems  to  solve.  But  as  I 
looked  down  on  the  deserted  playground,  I  was  not  so 
sure. 

Father's  voice  recalled  me. 

"Well,  Ben,  are  you  glad  it's  out?" 

I  nodded  my  head. 

Then  he  went  over  and  got  mother  by  the  hand. 

"Anne,  it  was  a  great  success,"  he  declared. 


Chapter  5 

THE  warm  beautiful  summer  was  passing  like  a  golden 
dream.  The  first  few  weeks  after  the  closing  of 
school,  I  was  content  to  wander  aimlessly  about,  doing 
little  in  particular  but  revelling  in  my  freedom  and  re- 
newing acquaintance  with  the  myriad  forms  of  summer 
life.  Father  had  early  made  a  plough  stock  out  of  a 
piece  of  seasoned  oak,  and  spent  many  of  the  days  plough- 
ing with  the  shovel  plough  on  the  steep  hillside.  I  fol- 
lowed along  in  the  furrow  behind  him  sometimes,  gath- 
ering up  fish  worms  and  mulligrubs,  but  as  soon  as  I  had 
found  a  few,  I  would  go  off  to  the  mouth  of  the  creek 
to  fish  for  the  big  sun  fish  and  goggle-eyes  that  lay 
lazily  in  the  water. 

The  big  chestnut  in  our  yard  was  out  in  bloom,  and 
the  long  white  pencils  of  fuzzy  blossoms  fell  upon  the 
ground  like  a  carpet  of  down.  The  river  had  lost  the 
muddy  hue  of  early  spring,  and  was  so  blue  I  could 
see  the  gaping  mouths  of  the  mussels  far  down  on  the 
bottom.  Occasionally  I  paddled  around  in  our  cut-off 
and  poked  a  long  slender  stick  into  their  mouths.  As 
soon  as  it  went  in,  they  would  close  tightly  on  it,  and  hold 
on  until  I  lifted  them  into  the  boat.  Then  I  explored 
for  pearls.  And  of  these  I  had  a  growing  and  marvellous 
collection. 

One  lazy  afternoon  I  crossed  the  creek  and  climbed 
slowly  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  toward  Buzzard 
Roost.  Buzzard  Roost  was  a  great  out  jutting  cliff  that 

74 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  75 

stood  at  the  intersection  of  Little  Creek  and  Elk  River. 
On  one  side  Little  Creek  had  eroded  the  mountain  until 
the  naked  rock  stood  out  bold  and  bare ;  and  on  the  other 
side  Elk  River  had  done  the  same.  The  result  was  Buz- 
zard Roost.  Shaped  like  a  triangle  lying  prone  with  the 
base  toward  the  hills,  it  pointed  out  like  a  giant  wedge. 
Once  reaching  the  base  at  the  top,  one  could  travel 
slowly  out  toward  the  point.  The  cliff  itself  was  at 
best  but  a  few  feet  in  width,  and  the  erratic  little  path 
that  wormed  out  it  sometimes  disappeared  altogether, 
and  at  others  clung  perilously  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
In  the  dry  shallow  ground  on  the  top  there  was  just 
depth  enough  to  support  a  few  straggling  huckleberry 
bushes,  and  here  and  there  a  low  scrub  pine. 

I  reached  the  base  after  a  long  hard  climb  up  the 
mountain,  and  began  my  slow  and  precarious  journey 
out  to  the  point  of  Buzzard  Roost.  Here  I  would  have  to 
jump  down  off  a  ledge  where  the  surface  was  uneven; 
then  I  would  have  to  climb  up  onto  a  higher  level.  At 
one  place  I  had  to  hold  to  a  small  pine  while  I  leaned 
clear  out  over  the  ledge  in  order  to  get  by.  But  I  had 
been  out  that  way  so  many  times  that  I  had  no  nervous- 
ness whatever. 

When  I  had  come  to  the  end  I  jumped  down  to  a  lower 
shelf  of  rock,  and  for  the  thousandth  time  dreamed  over 
the  curious  marks  cut  into  the  stone.  Father  said  that 
in  the  early  days  the  Indians  had  used  Buzzard  Roost 
as  a  lookout,  and  had  cut  these  figures  in  the  stones  as 
a  means  of  communication.  Here  was  one  that  we  took 
to  be  the  figure  of  a  dog,  although  its  straight  legs  looked 
more  as  if  they  belonged  to  a  wooden  horse  than  to  any- 
thing else.  Then  there  was  a  queer  series  of  circles, 
starting  far  down  on  the  rock  and  decreasing  in  size  as 
they  came  up.  Hen  said  an  Indian  had  cut  a  circle  on  the 
rock  every  time  he  had  killed  a  man,  and  I  would  sit 


76  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

long  thinking  of  the  bloody  struggles  that  had  clustered 
about  the  place. 

The  end  of  Buzzard  Roost  was  the  place  for  dream- 
ing dreams.  Looking  straight  ahead  in  the  direction  that 
it  pointed,  I  could  see  Elk  River  winding  snake-like  up 
between  the  hills.  Far  away  was  Johnson's  Gap  where 
there  was  a  break  in  the  ridge,  and  when  the  sun  would 
get  down  behind  it  the  red  oaks  would  stand  out  in  tall 
fantastic  columns  like  some  mighty  tribe  of  forgotten 
giants. 

I  was  sitting  there  in  the  sunlight  watching  the  aerial 
wanderings  of  a  great  eagle.  It  was  high  up  in  the  heav- 
ens, and  winged  its  way  toward  Johnson's  Gap,  and  then 
described  a  great  circle  and  returned  to  the  pine  topped 
summit  above  Buzzard  Roost.  I  thought  of  the  stories 
that  mother  had  told  of  the  bald-headed  eagles  carrying 
off  little  pigs  and  lambs,  and  even  children,  and  I  was 
glad  that  I  had  grown  too  heavy  for  one  to  carry. 

I  saw  father  over  on  the  hillside  stop  at  the  end  of  the 
field  nearest  home,  unhitch  the  horse  from  the  plough, 
and  start  toward  home.  I  also  got  up  to  go,  for  it  was  one 
of  my  chores  to  ride  the  horse  to  the  river  after  the  day's 
work  and  let  him  drink.  I  put  my  hands  on  the  ledge 
of  rock  above  me  to  draw  myself  up,  when  I  heard  a 
smooth  purring  sound  almost  under  my  left  hand.  I 
glanced  around  quickly,  and  saw  a  great  yellow  rattler 
slowly  contracting  its  body.  I  jerked  my  hand  away 
quickly,  but  further  than  that  there  was  little  I  could 
do.  The  ledge  on  which  I  stood  was  little  more  than 
three  feet  square,  and  save  in  the  direction  of  the  rattler 
there  was  a  sheer  drop  on  every  side.  The  cliff  dropped 
almost  perpendicular  clear  to  the  water  below. 

There  was  little  I  could  do  save  to  stand  in  numb  fasci- 
nation and  watch  the  rattler  slowly  coil  itself  up  to  strike. 
I  knew  it  could  not  strike  me  where  I  was  standing,  but 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  77 

to  watch  the  thing  coil  itself  up  was  terrible.  It  twisted 
itself  up  layer  on  layer  until  its  little  slick  head  pointed 
in  my  direction  and  its  rattlers  nestled  in  the  centre.  Its 
eyes  were  hard  and  cold,  and  while  they  did  not  wink, 
there  was  about  them  a  deadly  glitter  that  made  me 
shiver. 

I  wanted  to  call  for  help,  but  even  if  I  could  have 
been  heard  at  home  from  where  I  was,  I  did  not  have 
the  courage  for  one  moment  to  take  my  eyes  off  that 
snake.  I  was  beginning  to  get  dizzy  and  it  seemed  to 
me,  I  was  leaning  ever  closer  to  those  little  glittering 
eyes. 

Just  then  there  was  a  flutter  and  rustle  of  wings,  and 
I  had  just  time  to  see  a  long  sleek  neck  and  two  long 
talon-like  claws  fasten  themselves  into  the  body  of  the 
snake.  When  I  looked  up  in  amazement  I  saw  the  eagle 
which  I  had  observed  before  flying  rapidly  toward  the 
pines  on  Buzzard  Mountain,  and  hanging  from  its  talons 
like  an  inverted  U,  was  the  limp  body  of  the  rattler. 

When  I  reached  home,  faint  and  sick,  I  thought  it  best 
not  to  say  anything.  I  had  found  it  was  not  best  to  tell 
even  mother  everything. 

One  afternoon  a  few  days  later  I  walked  lazily  up 
from  the  river  toward  the  house.  The  bumblebees  were 
droning  monotonously  on  the  little  white  flowers  on  the 
sand  briers.  The  long  white  pencils  were  falling  from 
the  chestnut  tree.  The  river  was  placid  and  blue.  Every- 
thing presented  the  lazy  indolence  of  a  warm  summer 
day. 

When  I  entered  the  front  yard,  I  found  father  and 
Hen  there  busily  engaged.  The  sight  of  them  banished 
all  laziness  from  my  body,  for  I  knew  too  well  the  por- 
tent of  what  they  were  doing.  A  great  heap  of  carpet- 
rags  was  on  the  ground.  Hen  was  tying  the  pieces  to- 
gether, while  father  rolled  them  into  a  big  ball. 


78  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"What  you  doing,  Hen?"  I  asked  breathlessly. 

"Making  a  ball  for  the  light." 

"What  light?" 

"Going  gigging  to-night." 

"O,  father,  can  I  go  too?"  I  implored. 

He  carefully  made  eight  or  ten  circles  around  the  ball, 
drawing  each  string  tight.  Then  he  spoke,  much  more 
emphatically  than  usual. 

"Yes,  sir,  you  most  surely  can  go.  Do  you  know 
whose  birthday  this  is?" 

"It's  mine !"  I  shouted. 

"It  is.    And  this  trip  is  for  your  birthday." 

"O,  daddie,"  I  spluttered,  so  tickled  I  hardly  knew 
what  to  do.  We  had  been  taught  to  call  him  father  be- 
cause it  sounded  more  dignified  when  we  went  with  him 
over  his  circuit,  but  when  I  got  excited  I  sometimes 
called  him  daddie  like  I  had  when  I  was  very  little. 

"Father,"  he  said. 

"Father,"  I  corrected.    "Who  is  to  go  with  us?" 

"You  are  to  go,  and  sit  up  in  the  bow  by  the  light. 
Samuel  Aked  and  I  will  do  the  gigging,  and  Henry  will 
guide  the  boat." 

"Won't  that  be  fun!"  and  I  hurried  away  to  talk  it 
over  with  mother.  Samuel  Aked  was  the  greatest  gigger 
on  the  river.  He  had  a  long-handled  three-pronged  gig, 
and  could  hit  a  fish  farther  than  any  other  man.  Father 
came  next,  and  he  had  a  long  two-pronged  gig,  with 
sharp  beards  on  it.  When  the  two  of  them  got  together, 
there  was  sure  to  be  plenty  of  fun. 

Just  before  dark  Samuel  Aked  came  into  the  yard 
carrying  his  gig. 

"Ready,  Brother  Rhodes?"  he  called  out  in  his  big 
voice. 

"Ready  we  are,"  father  answered.  "Fine  night  for 
them  too — still  and  warm.  Ought  to  see  them  to-night." 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  79 

"Reckon  we  will  see  them  all  right.  Too  bad  Ben 
can't  go,"  he  finished  sadly. 

"But  I  am  going.  This  is  my  birthday,  and  I  am  to 
sit  up  by  the  light  and  watch  you  gig  them. 

"O  well,  then,  that's  fine.  I  was  afraid  you  couldn't 
go  with  us,"  and  he  winked  at  father. 

The  great  rag  ball  was  soaking  in  a  bucket  of  oil. 
Father  got  it,  and  his  gig,  and  we  all  started  down  to  the 
river.  He  took  the  ball  out  of  the  bucket  and  laid  it 
dripping  in  the  holder  that  stuck  out  over  the  front  end 
of  the  boat  like  a  landing  net.  I  got  in  and  sat  down 
on  father's  coat  in  front.  Hen  got  in  behind  and  took 
up  the  paddle,  and  father  and  Mr.  Aked  stationed  them- 
selves on  either  side,  up  near  the  front.  The  boat  was 
pushed  off. 

"Paddle  down  toward  the  shoals,  Hen.  When  we  get 
to  shallow  water  I'll  light  the  ball,"  directed  father. 

Hen  paddled  down  to  the  top  of  the  shoals.  Father 
stuck  a  match  to  the  ball,  and  the  light  flared  away  up, 
little  drops  of  burning  oil  falling  into  the  water.  Each 
drop  as  it  struck  the  water  made  a  little  lead-coloured 
spot  that  spread  out  in  a  circle.  I  looked  down  into  the 
water  and  could  see  the  yellow  sand  and  the  rocks  for 
several  yards  on  either  side.  Father  was  on  the  left  side 
facing  the  front.  I  could  see  him  look  keenly  at  the 
stones  and  the  small  pieces  of  black  wood  that  lay  on  the 
bottom.  He  held  his  gig  with  both  hands,  left  down,  and 
when  the  boat  would  tip  over  a  little,  the  long  black 
prongs  of  his  gig  would  cut  the  water  like  a  knife.  Mr. 
Aked  stood  in  a  somewhat  similar  position  on  the  other 
side. 

Suddenly  father's  gig  was  jerked  back  quickly  and 
quick  as  light  was  buried  in  the  water. 

"Ho,  ho!"  he  cried  a  moment  later.  "How's  that  for 
the  first  shot?" 


80  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

While  he  spoke  he  pulled  up  the  gig.  There  was  a  great 
splash  and  confusion  as  it  reached  the  surface,  and  he 
drew  toward  the  boat  a  big  red-fin  that  whipped  its  stocky 
body  stubbornly.  He  drew  it  in  to  me. 

"Pull  him  off,  Ben.  See  him  wiggle.  How  much 
will  he  weigh,  Sam  ?" 

"Nigh  to  five  pounds,  I  reckon,"  Mr.  Aked  calculated. 

I  gleefully  grasped  the  great  fish  on  either  side  the 
gig  and  pulled  it  off.  It  was  about  the  biggest  red-fin  I 
had  ever  seen. 

"Don't  grow  much  bigger  than  that,"  Mr.  Aked  al- 
lowed. 

"Not  much,"  agreed  father  complacently.  "I  thought 
at  first  it  was  the  end  of  a  log." 

Time  and  again  the  sharp  gigs  zipped  through  the 
water,  and  about  every  time  there  was  work  for  me  to 
do.  Soon  I  had  a  great  pile  down  in  front  of  me — 
suckers,  red-fins,  a  few  catfish  and  one  pike.  Mr.  Aked 
had  got  the  pike.  It  was  in  gigging  fish  like  that  that 
he  beat  father.  Father  was  perfect  when  it  came  to 
the  slow  fish,  but  the  pike  and  perch  were  too  swift  for 
him. 

I  had  been  looking  at  a  great  round  rock  on  the  bot- 
tom that  threw  a  long  shadow  over  the  sand.  As  I  was 
curiously  watching  it  I  saw  a  long  pointed  flash  dart 
away  from  it.  It  was  a  great  pike. 

"Look,"  I  began,  but  Mr.  Aked's  gig  was  swifter  than 
my  eyes.  The  fish  was  pretty  far  away,  too  far  to  al- 
low him  to  hold  to  his  gig  handle.  So  he  threw  the 
whole  thing  clear  out  of  his  hands.  It  went  through 
the  water  like  a  needle  and  then  came  to  the  surface 
bobbing  nervously. 

"Row  over,  Henry.    I  believe  I  got  him,"  he  said. 

I  could  see  he  was  nervous.  If  he  had  got  that  pike 
he  had  made  history.  Never  before  had  we  known  a  man 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  81 

to  gig  a  pike  when  it  was  so  far  away  he  had  to  let  his 
gig  go  out  of  his  hand.  Sure  enough,  when  he  leaned 
out  and  got  hold  of  the  handle  he  gave  a  grunt  of  satis- 
faction. 

"Well,  well,  so  you  really  got  him,"  exclaimed  father  in 
genuine  admiration. 

"Guess  I  did.  Reckon  he  beats  the  red-horse,  too,"  and 
he  poked  it  down  in  front  of  me. 

"Put  your  fingers  in  his  gills  so  he  won't  flop  away 
from  you.  I  just  hit  him  with  one  prong,  and  he's  pretty 
lively,  I  allow." 

I  ran  my  fingers  up  in  his  gills  from  behind,  and  with 
the  other  hand  grasped  him  tightly  around  his  long 
slender  body.  I  laid  him  down,  and  then  began  to  ar- 
range all  we  had  got  in  heaps,  according  to  their  size, 
when  I  heard  father  exclaim: 

"Look  out,  Ben !"  There  was  a  swish  across  my  face 
and  I  looked  up  to  see  a  long  snake-like  eel  writhing 
and  coiling  around  father's  gig.  It  was  a  monster,  and 
its  slick  body  glistened  in  the  light.  I  knew  what  it  was, 
but  the  suddenness  of  the  thing  and  its  glistening  body 
frightened  me  until  I  screamed. 

"Take  it  off,  Ben,"  laughed  father. 

"No.    You  take  it  off." 

"Take  it  off.    It  won't  hurt  you,"  he  persisted. 

"I'm  afraid  of  it." 

"Hand  it  over  here.  I'll  take  it  off,"  ordered  Hen  from 
the  other  end  of  the  boat. 

Father  complied  and  the  eel  described  a  writhing  arch 
overhead.  Hen  got  the  eel  in  his  hand,  but  when  he  went 
to  pull  it  off  his  hands  were  empty,  and  the  tail  of  the 
eel  flapped  his  face. 

"Huh,"  he  grunted  in  mortification,  and  grasped  it 
again.  Father  roared  with  laughter,  and  Mr.  Aked  al- 
lowed that  the  thing  must  be  pretty  slick. 


82  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Grip  it,"  father  directed. 

Hen  gripped  it,  but  his  very  grip  shot  it  out  of  his 
hand. 

"Take  it,"  he  said  shortly  and  picked  up  the  paddle. 

"Why,  Henry,  you  don't  give  it  up?"  and  father  seemed, 
greatly  shocked. 

But  when  Hen  made  no  answer,  he  stood  the  gig  up 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  ran  his  foot  down  along  the 
prongs,  and  the  eel  slipped  off.  Father  seemed  greatly 
satisfied. 

"Well,  let's  go  home.  We  have  had  our  fun.  What  do 
you  say,  Ben?" 

"I'm  willing,"  for  I  was  getting  sleepy. 

The  next  day  I  saw  Grouchie  McRand  up  at  the  store. 

"Went  gigging  last  night,"  I  said  indifferently. 

"Get  anything?"  he  asked,  also  indifferently.  At  least 
he  attempted  complete  indifference. 

"Thirty-one." 

"Little  ones,  though." 

"Big  ones,  and  we  got  an  eel." 

"Bet  they  were  not  so  big  before  you  cut  'em  up." 

"They  are  not  cut  up.    Come  down  and  see  them." 

We  went  down  home,  and  around  back  of  the  house 
where  we  had  them  in  a  tub.  He  looked  them  over  care- 
fully, fingering  them  for  a  long  time.  He  picked  up  a 
little  sucker  and  laid  it  to  one  side.  Then  he  stood  up, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  little  old  man.  His  expression 
was  not  pleasant. 

"You  ought  to  a  put  that  little  one  back,"  he  said. 

"But  what  about  the  others?" 

"O,  right  fair." 

For  Grouchie  never  could  see  a  triumph  when  it  was 
not  his  own. 


Chapter  6 

MARGARET  was  tall  and  slim  and  blue  eyed.  Her 
feet  were  ever  so  much  smaller  than  mine,  though 
she  was  much  taller  and  older.  Her  ankles  were  soft  and 
slender,  and  in  the  summer  when  she  went  barefooted, 
Hen  and  I  called  her  slim  legs.  Her  hair  wasn't  red,  al- 
though at  times  it  did  look  red.  It  was  a  lot  like  mother's, 
so  I  thought  it  was  very  nice. 

Father  called  Margaret  a  dreamer.  She  read  lots  of 
books,  though  where  she  got  them  I  never  knew,  for  they 
were  love  stories — "trashy  novels,"  father  called  them, 
in  such  a  voice  that  I  wondered  how  on  earth  she  could 
find  anything  to  interest  her  in  such  awful  things.  But 
she  would  read  them — every  one  she  could  get  hold  of — 
and  would  sit  for  hours  after  finishing  one  looking  dream- 
ily out  over  the  eastern  hills. 

We  had  a  place  down  under  the  water-core  apple  tree 
where  she  and  I  went  whenever  we  could  get  out  to  play 
together.  She  would  sit  up  under  the  tree  and  read  one 
of  her  books,  while  I  made  dams  across  the  hollow. 
When  the  water  had  backed  away  up  she  would  sit  and 
flip  little  dried  up  apples  down  into  it,  and  tell  me  all 
about  what  was  in  the  book.  Once  it  was  about  a  girl 
who  had  lived  all  her  life  far  back  in  the  mountains 
with  no  one  but  her  old  father  in  the  family  with  her. 
She  had  had  but  little  to  read  except  the  Bible,  so  what 
she  said  was  filled  with  quotations  from  it.  One  day  a 
handsome  stranger  came  up  among  the  hills,  and  met  her 

83 


84  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

quite  by  accident.  He  was  charmed  by  her  simple  dress 
and  manner,  and  by  her  beautiful  ways  of  expression  that 
she  had  copied  from  the  Bible.  He  was  so  interested  that 
he  staid  with  her  father  for  quite  a  while;  and  finally 
they  were  married  and  went  away.  Margaret  got  all 
excited  when  she  told  me  about  it.  Her  eyes  glowed, 
and  she  looked  a  long  time  at  the  waves  where  she  had 
flipped  the  little  apples.  But  I  was  not  much  impressed. 

"Who  cooked  for  her  old  father  after  she  left?"  I 
asked  sternly. 

"Why  he — he — he,  you  see,  what  else  could  she  do?" 
she  answered. 

"I  don't  think  it  was  very  nice  of  her  to  leave  her  old 
father  up  there  all  alone." 

"But  she  could  go  back,"  she  brightened  up,  "and  bring 
him  all  sorts  of  wonderful  things." 

I  couldn't  just  think  of  any  answer  to  this,  but  I  was 
determined  to  do  all  I  could.  I  felt  very  just. 

"Maybe  he  would  starve  to  death  before  she  got  back." 

She  considered  a  long  time.  I  could  plainly  see  she 
was  troubled  by  this  aspect  of  the  case.  She  also  seemed 
aggravated  that  I  should  suggest  such  things  when  she 
was  still  stirred  by  the  beauty  of  the  story,  but  she  finally 
settled  me  with  a  poser. 

"But  the  man  was  wealthy,  and  he  would  leave  her 
father  well  provided  for." 

I  couldn't  see  any  way  around  this,  so  I  directed  atten- 
tion to  my  dam. 

"See  how  far  the  water  has  backed  up.  When  I  get 
this  big  piece  of  sod  fixed  in  here  where  it  is  leaking,  it 
will  go  still  higher.  Wouldn't  it  be  nice  to  have  a  lot 
of  fish  to  put  in  it?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  nice,  Ben,  if  some  one  should  come  to 
Barren  Rocks  like  that,  and  would  come  to  our  house, 
and — and,"  she  looked  dreamily  off  toward  Johnson's 


85 

Gap.  Presently  she  got  up  and  went  slowly  toward  the 
house. 

I  was  surprised  the  next  winter  when  several  of  the 
older  boys  began  to  come  to  our  house  and  sit  around 
the  fire  of  evenings.  At  first  they  said  they  had  come 
to  see  Hen,  or  they  wanted  to  arrange  to  go  hunting 
some  night,  or  they  wanted  father  to  help  them  with 
their  arithmetic.  But  they  didn't  take  Hen  out,  and  they 
would  never  fix  any  very  definite  time  for  the  hunt. 
And  often  while  father  worked  away  at  the  problems 
they  sat  around  and  talked  about  something  else. 

Herb  Ellanger  came  more  often  than  any  of  the  rest, 
and  this  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  me.  During  my 
first  year  in  school  Herb  had  been  as  mean  to  me  as  he 
knew  how  to  be.  He  would  hide  my  hat,  hit  me  with 
Uie  ball  when  I  was  running  bases,  snatch  my  books  out 
of  my  hands  and  say  he  was  going  to  burn  them  up. 
But  he  now  seemed  altogether  different.  He  got  very 
good  to  me,  and  once  even  went  so  far  as  to  bring  me  a 
twenty-two  long  cartridge  for  my  arrow.  And  I  got  to 
liking  him  very  much. 

I  went  up  to  the  store  one  day  and  he  was  there  by 
the  big  Burnside  stove.  I  went  right  up  to  him.  He  was 
nice,  and  in  a  little  while  got  me  a  big  stick  of  candy. 
Grouchie  McRand  saw  him,  and  I  could  see  he  was  mad. 
He  swaggered  up  to  me,  and  leered  into  my  face. 

"So.  Margaret's  beau  has  got  to  getting  her  little 
brother  candy,  has  he?"  he  said  so  loudly 'that  every  one 
in  the  store  heard  him. 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  I  felt  so  ashamed  that 
I  slipped  out  as  soon  as  I  could  before  he  had  a  chance 
to  say  anything  more.  I  went  home  and  hunted  up 
mother. 

"Mother,  is  Herb  Ellanger  coming  to  see  Margaret  ?" 
I  demanded. 


86  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Mother  laughed  nervously. 

"I  don't  know,  sonnie.    Why?" 

"  'Cause  Grouchie  McRand  said  he  was." 

"When  did  he  say  that?" 

"Up  at  the  store." 

"You  mustn't  listen  to  those  boys  up  there,  sonnie." 

"But  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"Then  don't  pay  any  attention  to  them.  Come  now  and 
see  what  mother  has  for  you,"  and  she  led  the  way  to  the 
kitchen.  She  had  opened  the  apple  hole  that  morning 
and  got  out  some  big  red  apples. 

"Here's  one  for  you,  sonnie.    Now  run  out  and  play." 

I  went  out,  but  I  was  too  perplexed  to  play  much. 
Why  any  one  wanted  to  go  with  Margaret  was  more 
than  I  could  understand.  I  could  see  why  Hen  liked  to 
go  to  see  Herb's  sister,  Jane,  for  she  was  tall  and  pretty, 
with  pink  cheeks  and  she  wore  pretty  clothes.  I  liked 
to  visit  at  her  house  myself.  But  why  Herb  wanted  to 
be  coming  to  see  Margaret  was  more  than  I  could  under- 
stand. Why,  she  was  almost  like  me.  She  would  run 
races  and  climb  trees,  and  wash  the  dishes.  And  I  knew 
every  dress  she  had.  I  liked  to  see  Jane  in  her  good 
clothes  for  they  were  soft  and  pretty,  and  I  had  never 
seen  many  of  them  but  once.  But  as  for  Margaret,  I 
knew  every  dress  she  had,  and  I  knew  all  about  her.  I 
could  not  see  why  any  one  wanted  to  go  with  her. 

But  I  was  still  more  surprised  a  few  days  later. 
Brother  Hall  was  another  minister  that  lived  away  up 
the  river,  and  one  day  he  was  visiting  father.  They 
were  sitting  by  the  fire  and  arguing  about  Revelations. 
Father  said  that  the  Beast  in  Revelations  was  not  the 
same  one  as  that  mentioned  by  Daniel,  but  Brother  Hall 
said  it  was,  and  that  by  comparing  the  two  he  could 
tell  almost  to  a  day  just  when  the  world  would  come 
to  an  end.  I  sat  and  listened  with  shivers  of  terror  run- 


87 

ning  up  my  back,  for  the  one  thing  that  I  dreaded  above 
all  others  was  the  Judgment  Day.  Brother  Hall  said  it 
could  easily  be  shown  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
nigh. 

As  they  were  talking  about  it,  Margaret  came  in.  She 
took  off  a  shawl  that  she  had  had  around  her  shoulders, 
courtesied  to  Brother  Hall  and  went  out  to  the  kitchen. 
Brother  Hall  looked  after  her  a  long-time  after  she  had 
gone.  There  was  a  sad  reminiscent  look  on  his  face. 

"How  beautiful!"  he  murmured.  Then  turning  to 
father  he  exclaimed  fervently,  "Brother  Rhodes,  if  I 
had  that  girl  ten  million  worlds  wouldn't  take  her  away 
from  me." 

"Margaret  is  quite  a  girl.  She  is  a  lot  like  her  mother," 
and  father's  voice  was  very  soft. 

I  went  out  to  think  it  over.  Margaret  beautiful? 
Somehow  I  had  never  thought  of  her  like  other  girls. 
She  was  just  our  Margaret.  But  other  people  seemed 
to  look  at  her  differently.  When  I  went  into  the  kitchen 
she  was  sitting  by  the  stove  reading  a  book.  I  went  up 
to  her,  disgusted. 

"So,  missy,  you  have  a  beau,"  I  jeered. 

"Have  not,"  she  replied  vehemently. 

"Herb  Ellanger.    Huh!" 

"Mother  make  Ben  stop,"  she  cried. 

"Rich  stranger  coming  in  and  finding  a  backwoods 
girl.  Huh !  You  can't  even  quote  the  Bible,  either." 

"I  can,  too." 

"Do  it." 

"Mother,  make  him  stop." 

"That  will  do  now,  sonnie.    Run  out  and  play." 

The  next  Sunday  was  father's  day  at  Oakum  Mills 
appointment.  He  always  left  Saturday  afternoon,  for 
his  churches  were  far  apart,  and  the  ride  was  long  and 
hard.  This  time  mother  was  to  go  with  him,  and  Mar- 


88  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

garet  was  to  stay  at  home  and  keep  house  for  us.  They 
left  early  in  the  afternoon,  father  riding  old  Bill  and 
mother  riding  Bird. 

How  mother  could  ride !  She  was  so  supple  she  could 
put  her  hands  on  the  horns  of  the  side-saddle  and  jump 
into  the  seat  from  the  ground  without  help.  And  she 
could  ride  all  day  without  being  tired.  She  looked  so 
pretty  and  slim  up  in  the  saddle,  too. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight,  we  all  demanded  that 
Margaret  get  supper.  She  looked  her  outrage,  and  said 
we  had  just  had  our  dinner.  That  made  no  difference 
to  us,  for  when  mother  was  away  we  had  things  about 
like  we  wanted  them.  Margaret  indignantly  complied, 
and  made  us  a  big  pot  of  potato  dumplings.  We  ate  them 
down  to  the  last  mouthful. 

This  done  we  proceeded  to  explore  the  house.  There 
were  places  where  we  were  strictly  forbidden  to  go. 
Father's  book  desk,  we  never  were  allowed  to  open. 
Mother  had  a  drawer  in  the  press  that  she  kept  shut 
from  us  at  all  times.  But  when  both  were  away  we 
would  go  through  everything,  down  to  the  last  nook  and 
cranny  of  the  house.  After  everything  had  been  ex- 
plored and  we  were  convinced  we  had  not  missed  a 
thing,  we  killed  two  chickens  for  Sunday  dinner.  Then 
we  went  off  into  the  woods  to  play. 

Sunday  morning  we  lay  in  bed  as  long  as  we  wanted 
to,  and  only  got  up  because  we  were  so  hungry.  Mar- 
garet baked  a  big  pone  of  corn  bread  and  we  ate  it  with 
the  cane  molasses  somebody  had  given  father  at  the 
River  appointment. 

After  breakfast  Hen  spent  a  long  time  in  the  kitchen, 
with  father's  razor.  He  wouldn't  let  me  come  in,  and 
after  he  had  finished  in  there  he  went  into  the  bed- 
room. I  could  hear  him  whistling  and  brushing.  When 
at  last  he  came  out,  his  hair  was  slicked  down  all  over  his 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  89 

head,  and  his  new  jeans  pants  were  brushed  up  in  fine 
shape.  He  had  on  a  collar  that  mother  had  done  up. 
She  always  wrinkled  them  somewhere  when  she  ironed 
them,  but  Hen  had  made  the  most  of  this  one.  He 
started  out  carelessly. 

"Where  you  going,  Hen?"  I  asked  after  him. 

"O,  guess  I'll  go  down  to  see  Herb,"  he  answered  back 
indifferently. 

"Can  I  go  with  you?" 

"No.    You  had  better  stay  at  home." 

When  he  got  out  nearly  to  the  road  he  called  Mar- 
garet. I  could  not  hear  what  he  said  to  her,  but  what- 
ever it  was  caused  her  to  flare  right  up. 

"No.    I  won't  have  it." 

"Aw,  Marg,  why  not?    He  said  to  ask  you." 

"I  don't  care  if  he  did.    I  won't  have  it." 

"I'll  tell  him  all  right,"  and  he  started  off. 

"You  do  and  I  won't  let  him  in  the  house." 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  you?  And  it  would 
mean  a  lot  to  him." 

"I  don't  care.  I  won't  have  it,"  she  repeated  stub- 
bornly. 

"All  right,  then.  You  will  wish  some  day  you  had." 
He  started  off. 

The  day  was  beautiful  for  winter.  It  was  clear  and 
still.  The  sun  was  off  in  the  south,  but  it  fell  warm  and 
cheerful  around  us.  Margaret  came  in  and  stood  looking 
out  of  the  window.  She  had  on  an  old  green  calico  dress 
that  did  not  come  quite  to  her  shoe  tops.  She  had  had 
it  a  long  time,  and  only  wore  it  now  to  do  work  in. 
The  dresses  she  had  got  of  late  were  much  longer.  Her 
back  was  toward  me.  Her  right  hand  she  held  up  against 
the  window  jamb.  I  had  never  noticed  before  how  slen- 
der and  white  it  was.  She  had  not  done  up  her  hair  yet 
for  the  day,  and  little  wayward  curls  of  it  were  falling 


90  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

about  her  neck.  Her  ankles  below  her  skirt  were  firm 
and  trim,  proud  in  the  first  pair  of  button  shoes  she  had 
ever  had.  I  looked  at  her  almost  in  amazement.  She 
had  changed  somehow,  and  instead  of  being  like  she  was 
the  first  year  I  went  to  school,  there  was  something 
shrinking  and  appealing  about  her  now.  It  made  me  feel 
sad.  I  went  over  to  her  and  put  my  arm  around  her. 
She  was  so  slim  I  could  reach  around  her  easily. 

"What  you  thinking  about,  Margaret  ?" 

."O,  nothing,"  she  answered  lazily. 

She  turned  round  facing  the  room,  shut  her  fists,  put 
them  up  near  her  cheeks,  and  slowly  extended  them  in 
a  long  lazy  yawn.  Her  movements  lifted  her  skirt  still 
higher,  she  stood  on  her  tiptoes,  and  seemed  for  a  mo- 
ment like  some  nimble,  graceful  elfin  poised  for  flight. 

"Let's  play  house,"  she  suggested  suddenly. 

"All  right,"  I  agreed.  I  loved  to  play  house  with 
Margaret. 

"I  will  live  over  here,"  she  said,  indicating  the  right 
side  of  the  fireplace,  "and  you  will  live  in  the  bedroom. 
I  am  old  and  you  are  coming  to  chop  wood  for  me 
to  keep  me  from  freezing." 

This  plan  offered  possibilities,  but  too  often  it  had  been 
made  real  by  my  being  sent  out  to  cut  some  stove  wood. 
I  didn't  think  Margaret  wanted  any  wood  brought  in, 
and  yet  I  did  not  want  to  take  any  chances.  I  suggested 
something  else. 

"No,  let's  play  something  else.  I  have  it.  You  be 
sick  with  the  fever  and  I  will  be  the  minister  coming 
to  see  you." 

I  had  gone  with  father  to  visit  a  sick  woman  a  few 
days  before,  and  the  awful  solemnity  of  it  had  given  me 
many  a  thrill.  I  longed  to  play  the  part  of  father  and 
do  as  he  had  done. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  91 

"All  right,"  Margaret  agreed.  "You  go  into  the  bed- 
room while  I  get  ready." 

When  I  came  back  out  with  a  Bible  under  my  arm, 
Margaret  was  lying  on  the  floor  in  her  corner  looking 
very  feeble.  Her  whole  body  sagged  with  weariness, 
and  when  she  moved  she  moaned  wretchedly.  I  knocked 
softly  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Come  in,"  she  called  weakly. 

I  walked  in  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"My  dear  Sister  Evans,  I  am  grieved  to  find  you  in 
this  condition,"  I  announced. 

"Yes,  but  of  course  we  never  know,"  she  smiled  wanly. 

"You  are  right.  We  are  often  made  perfect  through 
our  suffering."  1 

I  picked  up  her  hand  and  stroked  it  encouragingly. 
It  lay  limply  in  mine. 

"You  must  bear  up  bravely,  Sister  Evans.  The  Lord 
knows  best." 

With  a  great  effort  she  carried  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes  and  covered  them  gently. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  have  a  word  of  prayer,"  I 
suggested,  moved  profoundly. 

I  knelt  down  soberly,  cleared  my  voice,  and  was  just 
ready  to  begin  a  prayer  "for  the  afflicted  sister"  (I  re- 
membered father's  words  vividly)  when  there  was  a 
sharp  rap  on  the  door. 

Margaret  sprang  up  as  if  electrified,  all  the  weariness 
vanishing  like  a  flash.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  flung 
it  open.  Herb  Ellanger  stood  outside.  He  smiled  in  his 
sickly  manner. 

"Morning,  Margaret.  Hen  said  you  were  expecting 
me." 

She  gave  one  despairing  glance  at  herself,  looked 
around  the  room  nervously  and  then  back  at  Herb. 


92  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Good  morning,  Herbert,"  she  said  in  a  constrained 
voice.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Won't  you  come  in  ?" 

"Thanks,"  he  said  awkwardly,  and  walked  in. 

"  'Lo,  Herb,"  I  called  out. 

He  seemed  vexed  at  seeing  me. 

"Morning,  Ben.    How  are  you  to-day?" 

"Fine.  We  were  just  playing  doctor  when  you  came 
in." 

Margaret  looked  hard  at  me,  but  I  continued  glibly. 

"Yes,  Margaret  let  on  she  had  the  fever,  and  I  was 
the  minister  coming  to  see  her.  She  was " 

"Excuse  me  a  minute,  Herbert.  I'll  be  back  in  a  min- 
ute." And  she  disappeared  into  the  bedroom. 

Herb  was  silent  for  some  time. 

"Got  any  traps  set  this  winter,  Herb  ?"  I  inquired. 

"No.    I'm  not  trapping  any  this  year." 

"I  got  a  lot  set." 

"Caught  anything?" 

"Not  yet.    But  I  look  to  have  something  to-morrow." 

I  could  not  get  him  to  talk  freely.  He  seemed  dread- 
fully nervous.  His  face  resembled  one  of  the  old  Egyp- 
tian paintings  in  the  back  of  father's  big  Bible,  in  that 
both  his  forehead  and  his  chin  receded  sharply,  leaving 
his  nose  the  most  prominent  part  about  him.  His  chin 
was  very  small.  There  was  really  nothing  from  his  nose 
down,  until  his  Adam's  apple  was  reached.  It  was  simply 
enormous.  When  he  talked  it  had  a  way  of  bobbing  up 
and  down  like  a  bobber  on  a  fish  line. 

Hen  went  with  Herb's  sister,  Jane,  and  Herb  wanted 
very  much  to  go  with  Margaret.  He  was  afraid  to  ask 
her.  She  hated  him  because  of  his  Adam's  apple.  He 
must  have  sensed  it,  for  he  seemed  very  much  afraid 
of  her.  He  even  sent  Hen  to  ask  her  whether  he  might 
call.  And  Hen  had  lied  about  what  she  said,  perhaps  to 
make  Jane  think  better  of  him. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  93 

Margaret  came  out  of  the  bedroom  before  long,  and 
I  could  see  she  was  mad  clear  through.  For  when  she 
got  real  fighting  mad,  there  was  a  little  white  circle  all 
around  her  mouth.  And  when  she  came  out  of  the  bed- 
room she  was  white  all  over  her  face.  But  she  was  a 
little  whiter  around  her  mouth  than  anywhere  else.  She 
had  put  on  her  best  dress  and  done  up  her  hair  nicely, 
and  I  could  see  that  she  was  determined  to  treat  him 
just  as  nicely  as  possible.  But  even  that  wouldn't  be 
very  much ;  and  I  had  some  idea  what  was  in  store  for 
Hen. 

They  talked  very  little.  I  wondered  whether  I  should 
go  out  and  leave  them  alone.  But  Margaret  kept  hold 
of  my  hand  most  of  the  time,  and  I  took  from  that  that 
she  wanted  me  to  stay.  I  really  didn't  care,  for  I  was 
getting  interested.  I  hoped  she  would  fly  mad  and  send 
him  home,  or  do  something  else  terrible. 

He  told  about  an  extension  they  had  made  to  their 
barn ;  and  she  said  she  hoped  it  would  hold  their  crops 
now.  He  reckoned  it  would,  although  they  were  prepar- 
ing for  bumper  crops  the  next  year.  Then  there  were 
long  periods  when  nothing  was  said.  He  swallowed 
hard  frequently,  and  his  Adam's  apple  bobbed  up  and 
down.  Occasionally  he  put  his  finger  inside  his  collar 
and  stretched  his  neck  to  one  side,  as  if  trying  to  get  a 
little  more  room. 

Margaret  seemed  greatly  relieved  when  it  was  time 
to  get  dinner.  I  went  out  to  the  kitchen  with  her.  I 
hoped  she  would  break  into  a  tirade,  and  she  did — al- 
most. 

"You  just  wait  until  Hen  comes  back  here.  I  told  him 
I  didn't  want  him.  And  I  thought  Herb  Ellanger  could 
have  seen  I  didn't  want  him  to  stay  for  dinner!  You 
just  wait  until  he  comes  home." 

But  she  got  a  good  dinner.    She  cooked  the  two  chick- 


94  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

ens  we  had  killed,  made  a  fine  pie,  and  mashed  some 
potatoes.  She  also  got  out  a  can  of  mother's  apples. 
I  was  glad  of  this,  because  those  canned  apples  were  not 
an  every-day  thing  at  our  house. 

When  everything  was  ready  she  sent  me  for  Herb. 
He  came  out  awkwardly  and  sat  down  in  father's  place. 
I  sat  at  his  left,  close  up  to  the  dish  of  apples.  Margaret 
looked  terribly  upset  when  we  had  sat  down  and  were 
all  ready  to  begin.  Then  she  asked  Herb  to  return 
thanks. 

We  never  thought  of  eating  at  our  house  without  re- 
turning thanks,  but  I  had  often  heard  father  say  that 
he  was  afraid  Brother  Ellanger  was  not  setting  the  ex- 
ample before  his  children  that  he  should.  When  Mar- 
garet called  on  Herb  to  return  thanks,  he  looked  ut- 
terly nonplussed.  Then  he  swallowed,  and  his  Adam's 
apple  shot  back  with  a  jolt.  But  he  folded  his  hands 
in  his  lap,  leaned  over  until  his  hair  nearly  got  in  the 
gravy,  and  mumbled  a  few  words  that  I  could  not  un- 
derstand. 

As  soon  as  he  looked  up,  I  got  the  dish  of  apples  in 
both  hands.  I  was  a  little  uncertain  what  to  do,  but  since 
father  was  gone  I  felt  that  something  was  expected  of 
me.  I  held  it  over  right  under  his  mouth. 

"Have  some  apples,  Herb,"  I  urged  cordially. 

He  took  the  dish  from  me,  and  swallowed.  But  Mar- 
garet had  the  chicken  in  her  hands,  and  silently  passed 
it  to  him.  He  took  it  with  his  other  hand,  and  sat  there 
helplessly,  the  apples  in  one  hand,  and  the  chicken  in  the 
other.  He  seemed  hopelessly  confused. 

"Just  set  the  apples  down,  Herbert,  and  help  yourself 
to  the  chicken,"  Margaret  suggested. 

He  seemed  greatly  relieved,  and  did  as  she  suggested. 
After  that  everything  went  off  fairly  well.  But  when  he 
and  I  had  gone  into  the  living  room,  it  took  Margaret  a 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  95 

long  time  to  get  through  with  the  dishes.  Herb  had  be- 
gun to  fidget  long  before  she  appeared,  and  when  she  did 
come  in  he  said  it  was  time  for  him  to  go. 

"I  have  the  stock  to  feed,  so  I  guess  I  better  be  going." 

He  got  up  and  reached  for  his  hat.  Margaret  stood 
by  the  fire  watching  him. 

"You  all  come  over,  Margaret,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  Herbert,  we  will,"  she  said  firmly. 

She  closed  the  door  after  him. 

She  came  back  into  the  room  and  walked  the  floor 
like  a  caged  panther.  The  little  white  circle  was  very 
prominent  about  her  mouth. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  Herb,  Margaret  ?"  I  queried. 

She  stopped  walking  the  floor  and  glared  at  me. 

"No,  I  am  not.  And  when  Hen  comes  home  I  will  tell 
him  a  few  things,  and  don't  you  'forget  it." 

Hen  stayed  away  later  than  usual.  When  he  did  open 
the  door  and  step  inside,  he  faced  us  with  a  propitiatory 
grin. 

"Honest,  Margaret,  it  was  all  right,"  he  began  at  once. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  was  all  right.  I  didn't  want  him 
around." 

"Did  he  tell  you  about  his  barn?" 

Margaret  almost  choked. 

"Yes,  and  about  the  chickens  and  the  cows,"  and  she 
burst  into  wild  laughter. 

I  was  frightened,  but  Hen  was  not.  He  continued  to 
grin. 

"Did  you  notice  his  Adam's  apple  ?" 

"Now,  Hen,  you  shut  up.  I  just  won't  stand  it,"  and 
she  fled  to  the  kitchen. 


Chapter  7 

WE  were  all  sitting  in  by  the  fire  when  there  was  a 
sudden  rap  on  the  door.  It  was  a  dark  night, 
and  we  supposed  Rude  Hamilton  had  come  over  to  spend 
the  evening  with  us,  as  she  was  afraid  to  stay  alone  in 
their  house,  and  her  husband  was  away  for  days  at  a 
time.  We  didn't  expect  it  to  be  a  stranger,  for  when 
strangers  came  around,  they  usually  sat  on  their  horses 
out  in  front  and  called  "Hello"  until  father  went  out  to 
see  what  they  wanted.  When  we  heard  this  knock  father 
called  out,  "Come  in,"  without  even  getting  up. 

The  door  opened  and  a  stranger  entered.  He  was  tall, 
dressed  in  black,  and  looked  very  handsome.  He  looked 
at  us  a  moment,  and  advanced  toward  the  fire.  Father 
got  up. 

"Good  evening,  stranger,"  he  said.  "Come  up  to  the 
fire.  Right  cold  out  to-night." 

"It  is  that,"  the  stranger  replied  easily,  advancing  and 
rubbing  his  hands.  "I  have  just  come  down  from  Big 
Town,  and  it  is  right  chilly  on  the  river." 

"Come  down  a  horseback?" 

"No.  I  had  some  luggage,  and  a  man  brought  me 
down  in  a  boat.  Pretty  cold  in  a  boat." 

"Drummer?"  I  hoped  he  was  a  drummer,  for  they 
came  to  the  store  and  told  stories  and  smoked  cigars. 
They  usually  staid  all  night  with  old  Alex  McRand,  but 
maybe  this  one  had  come  to  stay  with  us.  Father  knew 

96 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  97 

a  lot  of  the  drummers  because  he  sometimes  staid  in 
the  store  when  the  regular  men  were  away. 

"No,  not  a  drummer,  quite.  Fact  is,  I  have  been  ex- 
hibiting around  the  country  the  great  invention  that  you 
have  doubtless  heard  about,  the  graphophone.  I  wanted 
to  give  an  exhibition  at  Barren  Rocks,  and  the  people  I 
put  up  with  at  Big  Town  said  you  would  be  the  man 
to  see  about  getting  permission  to  give  it." 

"Did  you  bring  it  with  you  ?"  father  asked.  I  could  see 
he  was  excited  about  it.  Father  was  always  greatly 
interested  in  things  that  went  on  "outside,"  as  mother 
called  the  world  beyond  Barren  Rocks.  She  often  said 
she  was  sorry  he  could  not  be  in  a  big  city  where  he 
would  come  more  in  touch  with  things. 

"Yes,  I  have  it  outside.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  trouble 
bringing  it  in,  for  I  will  have  to  hunt  some  place  to  stay 
all  night  yet." 

"You  will  stay  all  night  right  here.  Where  is  your 
graphophone?  We  will  bring  it  in,  and  perhaps  you  are 
not  too  tired  to  explain  it  to  us." 

"Thank  you  very  much  for  letting  me  stay  with  you 
over  night.  This  is  better  fortune  than  I  expected.  We 
will  go  out  and  get  my  luggage." 

I  had  never  heard  any  one  thank  another  for  letting 
him  stay  all  night.  That  was  something  that  we  took 
for  granted.  No  one  ever  asked  if  it  would  be  all  right. 
People  just  came  in  and  sat  down  to  stay  and  that  was 
the  end  of  it.  Nevertheless  I  thought  it  sounded  nice  in 
this  man,  and  when  he  and  father  had  gone  out  I  spoke 
to  mother. 

"Isn't  he  nice,  mother?  And,  mother,  what  is  a 
graphophone  ?" 

Mother  was  excited  too. 

"It  is  a  talking  machine,  sonnie.  It  is  a  thing  that  will 
sing  and  talk  like  a  person." 


98  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Is  it  a  parrot,  mother  ?" 

"No,  sonnie.  It  winds  up  like  a  clock,  and  then  sings 
and  plays." 

"Did  you  ever  see  one,  mother?" 

"No,  but  I  have  read  about  them.  They  are  wonder- 
ful. Here  they  come." 

Father  and  the  man  entered.  They  carried  between 
them  a  long  box,  and  put  it  on  the  floor. 

"So  this  is  a  graphophone !  Well,  well.  Does  it  really 
talk  ?"  father  asked. 

"O  yes.  This  is  the  latest  make.  Sometimes  it  don't 
do  very  well,  but  usually  it  is  clear.  They  are  a  won- 
derful invention." 

"Ask  him  to  open  it,  mother,"  I  implored. 

"Be  quiet,  sonnie.    He  will  open  it  if  he  wants  to." 

The  man  heard  what  I  said. 

"Of  course  I'll  open  it.  You  give  a  hand,  Mr.  Rhodes, 
and  we  will  soon  have  a  concert  all  to  ourselves." 

I  became  greatly  excited. 

"Do  keep  still,  Ben.  Quit  hopping  around,"  Henordered. 

The  graphophone  was  in  a  box  with  a  hinge  top.  The 
man  unfastened  the  catches,  and  turned  back  the  lid. 
He  then  lifted  off  a  covering  of  black  oilcloth.  I  gasped 
at  what  was  revealed.  There  was  a  great  horn  such  as 
I  had  never  seen  before.  From  its  small  base  it  flared 
out  to  an  enormous  size,  and  was  painted  green  with  gold 
trimmings.  There  was  also  a  little  box-like  affair  which 
the  man  lifted  up  and  put  on  the  reading  table.  He 
wound  at  it,  and  then  fastened  the  horn  to  it,  suspending 
it  like  a  derrick,  from  an  ornamented  gold  chain.  All  the 
time  he  worked  at  it  he  explained  to  father,  who  stood 
by  the  most  interested  I  had  ever  seen  him.  Finally 
the  man  looked  up  at  us  with  a  smile. 

"Now  we  are  ready  to  play,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  over 
the  machine  and  made  some  adjustments. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks  9& 

Then  he  stepped  back.  There  was  a  low  squawking 
sound  from  the  graphophone,  a  strident  hectic  noise  that 
was  like  the  squeak  of  a  rabbit  or  the  cry  of  the  chicken 
hawk.  There  was  also  a  muffled  grating  such  as  Hen 
made  by  drawing  his  fingernail  over  the  rough  parts  of 
the  blackboard.  Then  the  machine  stopped  suddenly. 

"Huh !"  grunted  the  man.  "Must  be  a  little  tight  from 
the  cold.  I'll  just  wind  it  up  again.  Maybe  it  will  go 
better  the  next  time." 

He  worked  at  it  for  a  few  minutes,  made  some  fresh 
adjustments,  and  stepped  back.  Again  there  was  the 
squawking  and  the  grating.  But  this  time  there  was 
something  more.  Faint  at  first  and  unintelligible,  there 
was  a  medley  of  sounds  as  of  confused  voices.  Then 
the  general  hubbub  subsided,  and  a  lone  voice  issued  from 
the  instrument.  It  was  low  and  ridiculously  small,  like 
the  voice  of  some  wee  dwarf  straining  to  his  utmost  to 
produce  the  effect  of  a  full  grown  man.  It  was  going 
at  a  frightful  speed,  and  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what 
was  said. 

Now,  I  felt  downright  ashamed.  At  first  I  had  been 
all  curiosity,  and  as  he  had  made  his  adjustments,  I  stood 
with  mouth,  eyes  and  ears  open,  determined  not  to 
miss  a  single  thing.  But  when  the  little  dwarf  began  to 
bray  forth  his  hybrid  air,  a  feeling  came  over  me  that 
all  was  not  as  it  should  be. 

I  looked  at  the  man.  He  was  standing  in  triumph 
over  the  machine,  looking  as  though  every  word  that  is- 
sued from  it  were  a  compliment  to  him.  I  had  thought 
there  was  some  mistake ;  that  the  instrument  was  not  per- 
forming properly.  But  his  air  of  triumphant  satisfaction 
made  it  clear  that  the  fault  was  with  me,  and  not  his 
beloved  graphophone. 

Next  I  glanced  over  at  father.  He  sat  like  a  graven 
image,  his  head  to  one  side  and  his  brows  puckered,  as 


100          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

if  carefully  weighing  the  merits  of  the  great  invention. 
And  I  could  see  that  he  was  impressed. 

Then  I  looked  at  mother.  Her  attitude  was  not  one 
of  absorbed  attention.  She  looked  over  at  father  just  as 
I  looked  at  her.  And  when  her  eye  caught  mine,  it  held 
a  merry  twinkle.  I  tittered.  She  motioned  to  me,  and  I 
went  over  to  her  and  sat  down  on  her  lap.  When  the 
selection  was  finished,  there  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"Isn't  it  a  funny  thing,  mother?"  I  asked. 

But  father's  voice,  as  he  discussed  the  merits  of  the 
wonderful  invention,  completely  drowned  my  own.  Ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Gardner — for  that  was  the  man's  name — 
it  was  the  most  wonderful  triumph  of  modern  times; 
and  father  agreed  with  absolute  conviction. 

There  were  a  few  other  selections,  all  in  the  same 
squawking  voice,  a  few  more  explanations  and  comments, 
and  the  entertainment  was  over.  It  was  arranged  that 
father  and  Mr.  Gardner  should  go  to  the  trustees  of  the 
school  the  next  day,  to  arrange  for  having  the  entertain- 
ment in  the  schoolhouse. 

The  next  morning  we  started  out,  for  I  had  got  per- 
mission to  go  along.  We  crossed  the  river  to  go  to  see 
old  Herb  Ellanger  first.  He  was  big  and  fat  and  crabbed. 
He  usually  wore  an  old  faded  blue  shirt,  and  stuffed  his 
jeans  pants  into  his  boot  tops.  There  was  something 
wrong  with  one  of  his  eyes,  although  it  looked  all  right. 
But  he  couldn't  see  out  of  it,  and  when  he  talked  to  a 
person  he  turned  his  head  to  one  side  and  glared  bale- 
fully  out  of  the  good  eye. 

We  found  him  out  at  the  barn. 

"Good  morning,  Parson,"  he  said  with  as  much  grace 
as  he  could  muster. 

But  he  did  not  speak  to  Mr.  Gardner.  Rather,  he 
fixed  on  him  his  one  sound  eye  and  contemplated  him 
steadily  with  a  fixed  and  pessimistic  stare.  Mr.  Gardner 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          101 

had  seemed  very  versatile  and  resourceful  at  our  house, 
but  he  coloured  under  old  Herb's  gloomy  gaze.  He 
seemed  greatly  relieved  when  father  took  upon  himself 
the  task  of  explanation. 

"A  graphophone,  hey  ?  And  what  do  them  there  things 
do?" 

Father  told  him  explicitly  and  with  considerable  de- 
tail, but  old  Herb  seemed  unenthusiastic. 

"And  what  is  to  be  the  price  for  gittin'  in?" 

Mr.  Gardner  here  spoke  up,  eagerly. 

"Only  fifteen  cents  for  adults,  and  ten  for  children." 

A  cunning  look  came  into  the  sound  eye.  He  rolled 
it  up  and  looked  at  the  sky  meditatively. 

"And  what  about  the  trustees,  hey  ?" 

"Why,  I'll  let  you  and  your  family  in  free,  of  course. 
That  is  for  the  use  of  the  schoolhouse,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  keer  nothin'  much  about 
them  things,  but  I  guess  you  might  as  well  go  ahead  and 
give  it." 

We  left  him  standing  just  outside  the  barn,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looking  fixedly  after  us. 

Our  next  man  was  Alex  McRand.  He  was  short  and 
bald  and  stolid.  I  heard  father  tell  mother  once  that  the 
surest  way  for  him  to  get  the  blues  was  to  talk  for  an 
hour  with  Alex  McRand.  His  eyes  were  cold,  his  nose 
blunt,  and  he  was  heavy  jowled.  His  mouth  set  in  a 
hard  line,  and  when  he  talked  he  jerked  out  his  words 
in  cold,  dispassionate  sentences  that  made  me  lose  all 
my  enthusiasm  whenever  I  heard  him.  Father  said, 
though,  that  you  could  not  expect  much  more  from  an 
Advent.  But  he  held  to  his  faith  in  the  same  cold  way 
that  he  held  to  his  store.  It  made  father  mad  when  he 
closed  up  on  Saturday.  And  on  Sunday  mornings  as  we 
went  by  to  church,  he  sat  in  the  door  of  his  store  and 
watched  us  go  by  with  his  hard,  impersonal  stare. 


102          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

With  him,  Mr.  Gardner  undertook  the  explanations. 
He  listened  without  a  word,  looking  stolidly  at  Mr.  Gard- 
ner's mouth  as  he  talked,  as  if  estimating  the  number 
of  movements  his  lower  jaw  made.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished, it  was  some  time  before  he  spoke. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts?"  he  asked,  in  a 
tone  that  implied  that  a  stranger  in  these  parts  should 
be  watched  with  suspicion. 

"I  regret  that  I  do  not  live  here,"  he  answered  with 
a  smile. 

"Regret  it?    Why  do  you  regret  it?" 

"Why,  I — I  merely  meant  that — that " 

Father  interrupted. 

"It  is  really  a  wonderful  thing,  Brother  McRand.  I 
heard  it  last  night.  It  would  be  well  to  have  the  people 
hear  it." 

"I'll  let  you  have  the  schoolhouse,  provided  I  don't 
have  to  pay  to  get  in,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Gardner. 

"Certainly,  Mr.  McRand.  That  always  goes  without 
saying.  Thank  you." 

Estil  Hankerton  was  the  last,  and  I  knew  he  would 
consent.  He  always  consented — that  is,  if  his  wife  al- 
lowed him.  His  sandy  moustache  drooped  down  and 
hid  his  wavering  mouth ;  but  what  he  lacked  in  the  way 
of  resolution  his  estimable  wife  made  up,  and  with 
interest. 

He  greeted  us  with  an  apologetic  smile,  and  gave  his 
consent  without  protest.  But  as  we  were  leaving  for 
home,  he  came  out  and  called  to  us.  We  waited  until 
he  came  down.  He  smiled  feebly. 

"My  wife — that  is — she  will  want  to  come,  and " 

'^Certainly,  Mr.  Hankerton.    I'll  see  that  she  gets  in." 

"Pretty  shrewd  at  bargaining,  aren't  they?"  father 
asked  as  we  went  on  toward  home. 

Mr.  Gardner  smiled. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          103 

"Always.    And  it  may  look  more  that  way  to-night." 

"You  mean " 

"Wait  and  see."     .  ' 

It  was  almost  noon  when  father  and  I  got  back.  Mr. 
Gardner  stopped  with  Alex  McRand  for  dinner. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  mother  asked. 

"Yes.  All  right,  but,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "they 
made  him  promise  to  let  them  in  free  for  the  privilege." 

"I  knew  Mame  Hankerton  wouldn't  let  thing  like " 

But  father  looked  at  me  and  then  at  her  and  she  checked 
herself  abruptly.  "I  hope  they  have  a  good  entertain- 
ment," she  finished. 

"How  much  is  the  admission  to  be?"  Hen  wanted  to 
know. 

"Fifteen  cents  for  adults  and  ten  for  children." 

"Will  we  go?" 

"Certainly  we  will  go." 

Father  always  said  he  was  willing  to  support  anything 
that  was  for  the  good  of  the  community. 

It  was  always  a  mystery  to  me  how  news  spread  about 
over  the  country.  There  were  no  telephones,  no  trains, 
and  the  mail  came  usually  once  or  twice  a  week — in  good 
weather.  But  news  did  spread. 

That  afternoon  people  came  by  our  house  and  stopped 
to  talk  about  the  great  entertainment.  And  long  before 
dark  stragglers  began  to  gather  at  the  store,  where  they 
would  stay  until  time  to  go  to  the  schoolhouse. 

Before  dark  Hen  rowed  the  boat  across  the  river  and 
climbed  the  hill  toward  Ellangers'.  In  about  an  hour  he 
came  back,  looking  greatly  elated.  Herb  Ellanger  came 
with  him.  But  he  stopped  at  the  gate  while  Hen  came 
on  into  the  house.  Margaret  was  out  in  the  kitchen,  and 
Hen  went  on  through. 

A  little  later  I  heard  the  kitchen  door  close,  and  Mar- 
garet appeared  from  around  the  house.  She  went  out 


104          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  shook  hands  with  Herb.  From  my  point  of  vantage 
at  the  window,  I  could  see  them  easily,  although  I  could 
not  hear  what  was  said. 

Herb  looked  up  and  down  the  river,  scrutinised  the 
heavens  rapidly,  and  swallowed  hard.  I  saw  his  Adam's 
apple  bob  up  and  down,  and  imagined  that  Margaret  was 
watching  this  same  organ  with  a  critical  eye.  Herb  was 
very  nervous  and  his  neck  was  red.  But  at  last  he  man- 
aged to  say  something.  Margaret  shook  her  head  de- 
cidedly a  time  or  two,  but  he  persisted,  evidently  urging 
upon  her  the  advisability  of  a  course  of  action.  But  their 
parley  ended  and  she  came  slowly  into  the  house.  Hen 
met  her. 

"Did  you?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  I  didn't  did  you!"  and  she  went  back  to  the 
kitchen. 

We  got  ready  before  it  was  time  to  start,  and  started 
before  it  was  time,  but  father  always  liked  to  get  to 
places  early  so  he  would  have  time  to  talk  to  the  people. 

But  there  was  no  one  to  talk  to  when  we  got  to  the 
schoolhouse.  There  were  only  a  few  boys  standing  out- 
side. So  we  did  not  stop  there,  but  went  directly  in. 
Father  and  mother  sat  in  one  seat,  well  up  toward  the 
front,  and  Margaret  and  I  sat  just  behind  them.  The 
teacher's  desk  had  been  moved  to  the  centre  of  the  plat- 
form, and  on  it  the  graphaphone  had  been  placed,  the 
great  horn  pointing  back  toward  the  benches. 

Before  long  there  was  quite  a  commotion  outside. 
Some  one  was  coming  in.  I  turned  to  look,  and  saw 
Hen  and  Jane.  Jane  looked  much  excited,  and  her  face 
was  very  red.  But  Hen  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber. 
He  marched  Jane  up  to  a  seat  just  behind  us,  and  they 
sat  down.  I  thought  Hen  looked  handsome.  His  hair 
was  slicked  down  over  his  head,  and  there  was  a  mark 
where  his  hat  had  been.  Hen  looked  smart,  too.  The 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          105 

way  he  puckered  his  brows  and  looked  about,  made  him 
appear  extremely  intelligent.  And  he  was. 

We  could  soon  tell  from  the  noise  outside  that  others 
were  coming.  Mr.  Gardner  was  standing  at  the  door  to 
collect  the  admissions.  He  had  got  six  admissions  from 
us,  although  I  came  in  for  ten  cents.  When  Hen  had 
asked  for  some  money,  father  said  that  he  ought  to  try 
to  get  in  for  ten  cents.  But  Hen  got  very  angry,  and 
said  he  would  try  nothing  of  the  kind.  So  he  and  Jane 
came  in  as  adults. 

Estil  Hankerton  and  his  family  were  the  next  to  ar- 
rive. Mrs.  Hankerton  came  first,  and  importantly 
brushed  by  Mr.  Gardner,  saying  nothing  about  admission. 
He  put  his  hand  out  in  front  of  her,  and  she  regarded 
him  coldly.  I  don't  know  what  she  was  going  to  say, 
for  Estil  came  meekly  up  and  explained.  Now  Estil 
Hankerton  was  old,  and  he  and  his  wife  lived  at  home 
by  themselves.  But  he  had  three  married  daughters  and 
two  married  sons.  Between  them  the  daughters  had 
eleven  children,  and  the  sons  seven.  That  made  twenty- 
nine  in  the  family,  all  told. 

They  were  all  out  in  force.  Mrs.  Hankerton  swept 
grandly  up  front,  followed  by  Estil,  meek  and  apologetic. 
The  children  and  the  children's  children  filed  in  after 
them.  Mr.  Gardner  put  his  hand  out  in  front  of  the 
first  son: 

"Admissions,  please,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Hankerton,  Senior,  heard  him,  just  as  she  was 
settling  in  her  seat.  She  got  up  with  great  dignity,  and 
walked  back  to  the  door.  She  confronted  Mr.  Gardner. 

"Mr.  Showman,  these  are  my  children,  and  the  trus- 
tees and  their  families  gets  in  free,"  and  she  swept  back 
to  her  seat. 

With  an  apologetic  bow,  Mr.  Gardner  stepped  back 


106          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  motioned  them  to  enter.  They  filed  in  and  filled 
up  a  large  section  of  the  seats. 

Two  boys  came  in  next,  and  paid  their  ten  cents  hur- 
riedly, saying  they  were  under  twelve.  I  knew  they 
were  not,  for  Ed  Rainey  was  thirteen,  and  Bill  Hunter 
was  seventeen. 

Old  Herb  Ellanger  came  next,  and  in  addition  to  his 
family  he  brought  some  of  his  wife's  friends  from  over 
the  river.  But  none  of  them  paid.  He  fixed  his  sound 
eye  coldly  on  Mr.  Gardner. 

"Well,  we  are  here,"  he  announced  with  a  frosty  smile, 
and  waved  his  hand  toward  those  that  were  with  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you  out,"  Mr.  Gardner  murmured  as  they, 
passed  by  him,  but  the  smile  that  he  summoned  to  his 
face  was  twisted. 

Mother  leaned  over  and  whispered  something  in 
father's  ear.  I  was  getting  greatly  interested,  for  I  be- 
gan to  see  what  the  man  had  meant  when  he  told  father 
the  folks  were  not  done  driving  bargains. 

A  few  others  came  in.  One  woman  carried  a  big  boy 
as  if  he  were  a  baby,  so  she  would  not  have  to  pay  for 
him.  But  I  was  not  so  much  interested  in  them.  I 
was  waiting  for  old  Alex  McRand.  He  was  the  richest 
man  in  the  country,  and  I  was  wondering  what  he 
would  do. 

Soon  Grouchie  swaggered  up  to  the  door,  said  he  was 
the  son  of  a  trustee,  and  darted  for  a  seat.  Following 
him  were  old  Alex  and  his  wife,  their  daughter  and  her 
husband,  and  an  older  son.  None  of  them  paid. 

The  house  was  well  filled  when  the  entertainment  be- 
gan. The  graphophone  did  not  perform  very  well.  The 
little  dwarf  tried  in  vain  to  get  his  voice  to  soar,  but 
it  was  a  pretty  discouraging  effort.  Mr.  Gardner  ex- 
plained before  each  selection,  just  what  it  was  to  be. 
And  by  imagining  hard  I  was  able  to  get  a  fair  effect; 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          107 

but  the  audience  muttered  frequently,  and  from  the  tone 
of  their  whisperings  it  was  plain  that  they  were  disap- 
pointed. 

The  entertainment  broke  up  amidst  a  general  hubbub. 
Father  clapped  his  hands  in  a  vain  effort  to  create  some 
enthusiasm,  but  the  effort  was  not  a  success.  He  went 
over  and  shook  Mr.  Gardner's  hand. 

"Well,  sir,  that  was  very  good.  I  am  glad  you  came 
around.  We  don't  have  enough  things  like  this  up  here." 

As  he  was  speaking  Alex  McRand  came  up.  His 
mouth  was  set  in  the  usual  hard  lines,  and  his  look  was 
surly. 

"Well,  stranger,  if  that's  what  you  call  your  wonderful 
invention,  I'm  glad  I  didn't  invent  it,"  and  he  walked 
stolidly  away. 

Estil  Hankerton  started  up,  a  look  of  mild  interest  on 
his  face,  but  his  wife  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Come,  Estil.    We  have  no  more  time  to  waste  here." 

Mr.  Gardner  heard,  and  again  he  smiled  the  twisted 
smile.  He  turned  to  father. 

"Well,  anyway,"  he  said,  "we  took  in  a  dollar  and 
eighty  cents." 

"A  dollar  and  eighty  cents?"  father  said,  surprised. 
"Why,  there  must  have  been  near  a  hundred  here." 

"There  were,"  Mr.  Gardner  answered,  still  with  the 
twisted  smile. 


Chapter  8 

BARREN  ROCKS  was  beautiful  in  June.  Even  very 
early  in  the  spring  the  woods  were  dotted  white  with 
the  dogwood;  and  a  little  later  the  redbud  flamed  out  its 
contribution  to  nature's  picture.  And  when  the  service- 
trees  lifted  their  long  white  branches  out,  we  knew  that 
summer  was  in  the  air. 

But  by  June,  everything  was  out.  The  leaves  were 
full,  and  the  warm  sun  drew  from  the  hills  a  savoury 
woodsy  smell  that  brought  a  great  peace.  It  was  along 
in  June,  too,  that  the  river  began  to  go  down,  and  deep 
white  sand  bars  cut  in  here  and  there  where  the  yellow 
waters  had  swirled  swiftly  during  the  winter.  Little 
Creek  dried  up  in  many  places,  and  the  stones  on  the 
bottom  were  white  and  hot.  The  fish  went  into  the  deep 
holes  and  got  in  the  shade  of  the  big  rocks.  It  was 
real  summer. 

We  had  had  an  early  spring.  In  the  middle  of  April 
father  got  out  the  shovel  plough,  and  I  followed  along 
behind  him  in  the  furrows,  burrowing  my  bare  feet  into 
the  warm  earth,  picking  up  rounded  and  curious  stones, 
and  looking  for  mulligrubs.  We  had  cleared  off  a  piece 
of  new  ground  during  the  winter,  and  it  ploughed  up 
black  and  fallow.  The  plough  jerked  along  through  it, 
pulling  out  the  tender  sumac  roots.  I  liked  the  new 
ground.  There  were  no  fish  worms  or  mulligrubs  in  it, 
only  little  wriggling  bugs  with  short  legs  and  pink  backs. 

108 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          109 

But  the  ground  was  fragrant  and  soft.  And  it  was  rich. 
Corn  planted  in  it  soon  shot  up  a  rich  dark  green. 

We  ploughed  our  garden  early,  too.  And  we  had  hauled 
many  loads  of  rotten  leaves  from  the  creek  bed  and  scat- 
tered over  it.  Then  in  the  rich  warm  earth  we  planted 
our  garden — radishes  and  cucumbers,  beans,  corn  and  all. 
The  rains  came  just  right,  and  father  declared  that  every- 
thing was  bound  to  grow  that  spring. 

But  one  day  in  late  June  it  was  very  hot  and  very  still. 
The  little  white  oaks  up  on  the  hillside  were  standing 
very  still,  their  white  furry  leaves  drooping  with  the  heat. 
The  big  trees  on  the  mountains  were  still,  and  only  at 
times  did  they  stir.  Even  then  it  was  only  in  certain 
places,  as  if  some  fitful  breeze  had  singled  them  out  for 
special  favours.  Waves  of  heat  radiated  from  the  dry 
stones  on  the  dry  creek  bottom.  It  was  very  hot  and 
dry  and  calm. 

Along  in  the  afternoon  the  wind  rose  slightly.  It 
blew  in  warm  unsteady  gusts,  bending  the  trees  down  for 
a  moment,  and  then  dying  down  again. 

The  sky  became  slightly  overcast,  then  more  so,  and 
far  over  in  the  south-west  it  took  on  a  sickly  yellow  hue. 
This  spread  rapidly,  and  soon  great  yellow  clouds  came 
bellying  up,  carried  swiftly  along  by  the  gathering  wind. 
They  became  more  general  and  the  wind  rose  higher. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  looked  angry  and  malig- 
nant. As  the  wind  blew  them  along,  little  spirals  shot  out 
from  the  main  body  like  swift  scouts  reconnoitring  the 
way.  And  always  the  sickly  yellow. 

We  were  standing  in  the  yard  watching.    Father  spoke. 

"Henry,  you  and  Ben  go  to  the  stable  and  see  that 
everything  is  safe.  Margaret,  you  put  down  all  the  win- 
dows, and  we  will  get  inside.  There  is  going  to  be  a  ter- 
rible storm,  and  it  will  be  hail  too,  if  I  know  anything 
about  it." 


110          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

When  Hen  and  I  returned  the  others  were  inside. 
The  windows  were  down  and  it  was  dreadfully  hot.  But 
father  said  it  was  safer  that  way. 

It  was  not  long  before  it  came.  Looking  up  the  bot- 
tom, we  first  saw  a  number  of  big  round  drops  fall 
heavily  to  the  ground.  They  came  nearer,  until  they 
splashed  noisily  about  the  house.  I  saw  them  fall  on  the 
white  stones,  making  big  black  spots  where  they  fell. 
When  they  fell  on  the  road  little  pencils  of  dust  shot  up, 
only  to  fall  back  and  curl  up  in  small  wet  discs. 

The  rain  increased.  Up  the  bottom  we  saw  it  coming 
in  great  white  sheets,  and  where  we  could  catch  glimpses 
of  the  river  we  saw  the  drops  bound  back  as  they  hit  the 
water.  It  gave  the  appearance  of  some  great  infuriated 
monster  shaking  and  snarling  and  snapping  to  free  itself 
from  the  stings  of  a  deadly  insect  pest. 

And  the  water  was  lashed  into  white  foam. 

We  thought  we  saw  the  hail  coming,  but  it  was  not 
until  it  struck  on  the  clapboard  roof  that  we  were  sure. 
Then  we  saw  it  falling  in  the  yard.  Great  white  balls 
hit  the  ground  and  bounded  high  into  the  air.  It  fell 
harder  and  harder.  I  was  so  interested  in  watching  it 
that  I  did  not  notice  father  until  I  saw  mother  look  at  him 
anxiously.  He  was  standing  at  the  side  window  looking 
out  toward  the  garden  and  the  corn  field.  He  met 
mother's  glance,  and  his  face  was  drawn. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  all  up,  honey,"  he  said. 

He  drew  mother  over  toward  him,  and  they  stood  look- 
ing out. 

I  ran  to  the  side  window  to  see.  The  great  pieces  of 
hail  were  falling  on  the  garden  and  corn  field  and  shat- 
tering everything  they  fell  upon.  The  corn  stalks  were 
stripped  almost  bare.  They  were  bent  and  twisted  where 
they  stood  at  all.  For  the  most  part  they  were  bent  far 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         111 

over,  and  the  few  stringy  blades  that  were  left  were 
being  beaten  into  the  earth. 

For  over  an  hour  the  storm  continued,  and  never  for 
a  moment  did  it  abate.  The  heavy  yellow  clouds  heaved 
up  like  gigantic  monsters  freighted  with  plague,  dropped 
their  destructive  burdens  and  lumbered  on,  making  room 
for  the  others  that  were  to  follow.  Ragged  blotches  of 
mist  swirled  fantastically  under  them,  and  the  angry 
tendril  scouts  shot  down  the  sides  of  the  mountains. 

When  it  was  over  the  sun,  hanging  low  over  John- 
son's Gap,  shot  its  rosy  rays  down  upon  a  world  of  ruin. 
We  hurried  out  to  look.  The  garden  was  a  shamble. 
Everything  was  stripped  bare,  and  as  if  that  were  not 
enough,  great  piles  of  hail  were  banked  up  against  the 
tender  roots,  and  before  they  melted  even  the  roots  were 
killed.  It  was  clear  there  would  be  no  gathering  of  crops 
that  fall.  Our  garden,  our  corn — all  that  we  had,  was 
ruined. 

The  next  day  every  one  that  went  by  our  place  had 
the  same  story  to  tell.  The  storm  had  been  general. 
Up  the  river,  over  on  the  ridges,  down  the  river,  and 
back  among  the  hills,  the  storm  had  visited  each  place 
with  impartial  fury,  and  the  work  of  the  year  had  been 
destroyed  after  it  was  too  late  to  begin  over  again. 

The  atmosphere  at  the  church  the  next  Sunday  was 
sombre.  Long  before  time  for  the  service  the  people 
gathered,  the  women  going  inside  and  talking  excitedly; 
the  men  staying  outdoors,  sitting  on  fallen  logs  and 
stumps,  whittling  carefully  and  telling  of  the  catastrophe 
in  exact  appraising  voices,  each  of  which  seemed  to  con- 
tain an  element  of  triumph  in  being  able  to  make  more 
graphic  and  terrible  than  the  previous,  every  incident 
that  had  befallen. 

But  underneath  .all  there  was  the  feeling  of  terrible 
loss.  Back  in  the  mountains  where  we  lived  each  man's 


112         The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

little  farm  was  his  principal  source  of  supply.  The  out- 
side world  was  distant  and  unreal,  and  even  had  it  not 
been,  there  was  no  money  with  which  to  buy.  This  storm 
then  meant  a  hard  winter,  how  hard  we  were  all  in  time 
to  find  out. 

When  father  appeared  at  the  church  he  seemed  hag- 
gard, like  some  one  who  had  been  wrestling  with  secret 
and  unknown  powers.  And  while  he  sat  and  talked  with 
the  men  as  usual,  opening  his  great  bone  handled  knife 
and  whittling  at  a  splinter  he  had  broken  off  a  twisted 
tree,  there  seemed  about  him  some  secret  undercurrent 
that  made  the  conversation  somewhat  constrained.  Final- 
ly he  got  up  and  shut  his  knife  with  a  snap. 

"Well,  brethren,  it's  time  for  us  to  go  in." 

One  after  another  the  men  got  up,  straightened  them- 
selves out  awkwardly,  and  filed  solemnly  into  the  church. 

The  church  was  built  of  logs — long  pine  trees  that 
had  been  cut  in  the  hills,  hewn  out  with  the  broad-axe, 
notched  at  the  corners  and  laid  together.  The  benches 
were  made  of  the  same  material,  the  under  side  round, 
some  even  having  the  bark  still  on  them,  the  top  side 
hewn  smooth.  On  each  side  of  the  room  was  a  great 
burnside  stove,  now  rusty  and  cold,  with  the  inside  filled 
with  twigs  and  leaves.  Father  went  up  into  the  pulpit  in 
front,  which  was  a  slight  platform  with  a  small  wooden 
pulpit  in  front. 

He  got  up  and  looked  over  the  congregation  slowly. 
Usually  his  face  was  somewhat  hard,  and  his  voice  as  he 
spoke  had  a  metallic  sound  that  made  me  think  of  ice  or 
cold  iron  in  the  winter  time.  But  to-day  his  haggard  look 
made  him  seem  more  sympathetic,  and  his  voice  made 
me  feel  that  he  understood  very  much  about  things. 
There  was  only  one  song  book  in  the  church  and  he  had 
it.  He  announced  the  first  hymn,  read  the  first  two  lines, 
and  commanded  us  to  rise  and  sing. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          113 

Without  an  organ,  without  books,  with  only  the  read- 
ing of  the  words  to  help  us  remember  them,  we  started. 
Mother  led,  and  her  voice  was  clear  and  sweet  as  it  fol- 
lowed in  a  slow  undulating  manner  through  the  pleading 
lines  of  the  old  song: 

Come,  thou  fount  of  every  blessing, 
Tune  my  heart  to  sing  thy  grace ; 

Streams  of  mercy,  never  ceasing, 
Call  for  songs  of  loudest  praise. 

When  we  had  finished  this  part  we  all  stopped,  and 
father  read  the  second  part  of  the  first  stanza,  and  so 
on  until  we  had  sung  the  whole  hymn.  When  the  time 
for  the  sermon  came,  the  men  leaned  back  in  the  benches, 
and  stretched  out  their  legs,  scraping  the  floor  with  their 
boots  as  they  did  so. 

Father  took  as  his  text,  "The  Lord  is  merciful  and 
gracious,  slow  to  anger  and  plenteous  in  mercy."  There 
was  a  tightening  of  tension  over  the  whole  church  as  he 
spoke  the  words.  The  women's  faces  wore  a  patient  look, 
but  the  men  seemed  rather  defiant,  at  least  non-com- 
mittal. 

"Brethren,"  father  began  earnestly,  "these  words  are 
true.  We  have  just  recently  passed  through  a  very  try- 
ing experience,  but  these  words  are  true,  and  are  a  very 
present  help  in  time  of  trouble." 

Slowly  and  with  measured  words  he  spoke  to  us,  his 
voice  seldom  lifted  very  high,  but  always  throbbing  with 
an  awful  conviction.  A  man  was  making  bricks  on  a 
certain  farm,  he  told  us,  and  wanted  the  sun  to  come  out 
and  bake  them  hard.  He  prayed  for  warm  and  dry 
weather.  A  second  man  living  near  was  raising  corn,  and 
he  wanted  abundant  rain  to  make  his  corn  grow.  He 
prayed  for  showers.  Now,  could  the  Lord  please  them 
both?  To  satisfy  one  would  be  to  deny  the  other.  So 


114         The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

maybe  what  had  been  a  calamity  for  us  had  been  a  bless- 
ing to  some  one  else.  We  must  not  doubt  the  providence 
of  God.  Also,  we  were  limited  in  our  understanding.  A 
man  saw  but  the  corner  of  a  great  painting.  He  thought 
it  was  but  an  unsightly  blotch  of  paint.  But  when  the 
cover  was  removed  and  he  saw  it  all,  it  was  a  thing  of 
symmetry  and  beauty.  So  if  we  could  see  all,  we  would 
understand  the  place  of  the  storm  in  the  divine  plan. 

There  father  paused  and  his  face  blazed  with  a  terrible 
conviction.  There  was  another  point,  he  said.  Israel's 
calamities  had  come  upon  them  as  the  result  of  sin.  They 
had  been  unfaithful,  had  forsaken  the  true  God,  and  were 
punished  as  a  result.  Perhaps  there  were  sinners  in  our 
community  that  had  brought  upon  us  this  terrible  thing 
as  a  result  of  their  wrongdoing.  And  he  closed  with  an 
appeal  for  men  to  repent  and  flee  from  the  wrath  to 
come. 

After  the  benediction  the  people  stood  around  uncer- 
tainly, waiting.  A  drummer  who  had  been  delayed  in 
Barren  Rocks  over  Sunday  had  come  out  to  church,  and 
after  the  sermon  he  hurried  up  to  father. 

"An  admirable  discourse,  Doctor,"  he  said  holding  out 
his  hand. 

Old  Jud  Brian,  a  giant  mountaineer  from  back  among 
the  hills  came  up  and  elbowed  him  away  roughly.  He 
stuck  out  his  great  hand  and  gripped  father's  tightly, 
shaking  it  up  and  down  slowly.  His  eyes  grew  moist. 

"Come  home  with  me  for  dinner,  Brother  Rhodes,"  he 
said. 

Father  accepted  and  I  was  wild  with  delight,  for  Mrs. 
Brian  was  little  and  friendly  and  laughed  a  lot,  and  al- 
ways had  loads  and  loads  of  good  things  to  eat. 

Mother  went  around  among  the  women  shaking  hands. 
Rude  Hamilton  edged  up  to  her  mysteriously. 

"I  tell  you,  Sister,  there  was  a  lot  of  truth  in  that  ser- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         115 

mon.  If  some  people  I  know  would  forsake  the  evil 
of  their  ways  and  repent,  there  wouldn't  be  storms  like 
the  one  we  have  just  had." 

Mother  looked  around  helplessly,  and  just  then  some 
one  came  up,  and  she  began  shaking  hands  anew.  Mrs. 
Hamilton  turned  away  disappointedly,  but  soon  bright- 
ened, and  made  her  way  toward  father. 

"I  am  glad  you  said  what  you  did,  Brother  Rhodes. 
There  is  altogether  too  much  wickedness  among  our 
people.  If  they  don't  mend  their  ways  I  am  afraid  of 
what  might  happen." 

"The  Lord  knows  best,  Sister.  We  must  leave  all  to 
him." 

"I  know.  I  know.  But  sometimes  I  think  we  ought 
to  take  a  hand  in  it  ourselves." 

We  went  home  with  'Mrs.  Brian,  and  after  dinner  I 
spent  the  glorious  afternoon  out  in  the  fields. 

As  the  summer  passed  the  results  of  the  storm  be- 
came more  apparent.  When  we  went  to  cut  our  corn  we 
had  to  straighten  up  what  few  crooked  stalks  remained 
and  cut  them  with  the  cutter.  It  took  us  but  a  day,  while 
it  otherwise  would  have  taken  a  long  time.  When  we 
husked  it  out  and  put  it  in  the  crib,  it  filled  only  one 
corner,  where  it  usually  filled  the  whole  crib.  What  we 
did  have  was  little  nubbins  such  as  we  usually  sorted  out 
for  the  cow.  The  fodder  was  so  filled  with  sand  that 
it  was  practically  worthless.  How  we  could  winter  a 
cow  and  two  horses  on  it  was  the  problem  that  worried 
father. 

Usually  mother  put  up  a  lot  of  canned  fruit,  berries, 
apples  and  the  like.  She  had  a  big  built-in  cupboard  by 
the  fireplace  where  she  kept  it.  In  ordinary  years  it 
was  full,  but  this  fall  she  had  but  one  shelf  half  filled. 
She  would  sometimes  look  in  at  it,  then  look  around  at  us 
and  sigh. 


116          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Father  had  a  way  about  him  when  he  was  in  the  blues 
of  walking  the  floor  and  whistling  a  mournful  tune  the 
words  of  which  ran: 

"O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie," 
These  words  came  low  and  mournfully 
From  the  pale  lips  of  a  youth  that  lay 
On  his  dying  couch  at  the  close  of  the  day. 

The  air  was  low  and  melancholy  and  sad,  and  dragged 
the  words  out  until  the  whole  scene  on  the  lonely  prairie 
was  pictured  as  one  of  indescribable  longing  and  desola- 
tion. As  the  early  frosts  began  to  turn  the  leaves,  he 
would  walk  the  floor  for  hours  and  whistle  this  tune  until 
mother  would  beg  him  to  stop. 

As  father  returned  Monday  after  Monday  from  his  ap- 
pointments he  began  to  look  more  harassed  and  con- 
cerned. Usually  when  we  wanted  meal  and  flour  all  we 
had  to  do  was  to  go  to  the  mill  and  get  it,  for  the  people 
at  the  appointments  would  usually  bring  a  grist  in  for  us 
when  they  brought  their  own  load  to  the  mill.  But  they 
had  little  to  bring  this  year,  and  there  was  none  for  us. 
Early  in  the  fall  we  quit  having  biscuits  for  breakfast, 
and  that  was  the  first  effect  of  the  storm  upon  us. 

The  next  came  when  it  was  time  to  get  our  winter 
clothes.  We  got  none.  Mother  made  me  a  pair  of  pants 
from  an  old  pair  Hen  had  worn  the  winter  before,  made 
him  a  pair  from  one  of  father's,  and  father  went  without 
his  customary  new  outfit.  Margaret  went  with  a  made- 
over,  and  mother  sighed  when  there  was  no  sateen  for 
her  new  dress. 

My  boots  had  been  almost  worn  out  the  winter  before, 
and  they  leaked  badly  now.  Hen  had  to  wear  his  old 
ones,  too,  but  he  said  he  was  going  to  school  if  he  had 
to  go  barfooted.  Hen  was  going  to  be  a  Doctor,  and 
he  said  he  had  to  have  an  education. 

Our  cow  and  horses  got  poor  and  bony,  for  the  corn 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          117 

and  fodder  had  been  gone  for  a  long  time.  All  they  had 
to  eat  now  was  straw  that  Hen  and  I  carried  on  our 
backs  to  them  from  a  straw  stack  a  mile  and  a  half 
away.  The  horses  got  so  poor  that  father  would  start 
to  his  appointments  earlier  on  Saturday  in  order  to  give 
them  more  time  to  make  the  trip. 

We  ate  the  fruit  that  mother  had  put  up,  before  the 
holidays,  and  aside  from  corn  meal  and  a  barrel  of  kraut, 
there  was  absolutely  nothing  in  the  house  to  eat.  Hen 
went  to  school  without  taking  his  dinner,  for  he  said  he 
was  ashamed  to«  take  corn  bread  and  kraut.  Margaret 
and  I  staid  at  home. 

Day  after  day  father  would  go  out  into  the  woods,  old 
Ponto  with  him,  his  long  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  and 
tramp  all  day  looking  for  game.  Usually  it  was  quite 
easy  to  find,  but  the  hard  winter  had  driven  others  out  to 
hunt  it,  and  between  them  it  was  scarce.  It  was  only 
the  fact  that  father  was  a  wonderful  shot  that  saved 
us.  As  it  was  he  would  come  in  along  toward  dark  with 
a  squirrel  or  a  rabbit  or  two. 

My,  those  suppers !  Hot  pone  baked  brown ;  squirrel 
cooked  with  plenty  of  hot  gravy,  and  everything  warm! 
Father  would  take  the  head  and  a  hind  leg  as  his  share, 
and  the  rest  would  be  divided  up  among  us !  The  great- 
est thing  was  the  gravy.  The  pone  would  crumble  up, 
and  with  the  hot  gravy  over  it,  I  thought  it  was  the  best 
thing  that  could  be  possibly  desired. 

All  around  over  the  hills  I  would  track  rabbits,  and  set 
rabbit  boxes  where  I  thought  they  had  holed  up  for  the 
night.  Bright  the  next  morning  I  would  slip  out  and  go 
over  my  traps.  Sometimes  there  would  be  nothing,  but 
usually  I  would  have  one  somewhere.  And  rabbit  meat, 
while  not  as  good  as  squirrel,  tasted  very  good  to  us  that 
winter. 

Then  about  every  week  we  went  out  on  a  'possum  hunt. 


118          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Old  Ponto  could  be  trusted  to  find  a  'possum  if  there 
was  one  within  the  radius  of  our  ramblings,  and  his  bark, 
however  far  away  it  might  be,  was  a  signal  for  us  to  start 
running  and  yelling  to  get  to  him.  Sometimes  we  could 
see  Mr.  'Possum  sitting  up  in  a  little  tree,  and  by  shaking 
the  tree  he  would  fall  out  and  Ponto  would  do  the  rest. 
But  one  time,  I  remember,  he  had  climbed  high  up  in 
a  beech  tree,  and  on  sighting  him  I  was  sent  up  to  shake 
him  down.  I  climbed  up  to  the  bough  on  which  he  was 
sitting  and  shook  hard.  He  fell,  but  caught  by  his  tail 
to  a  lower  limb.  I  climbed  down  to  it  and  shook  again, 
but  as  he  fell  he  caught  to  a  limb  still  lower.  The  third 
time  I  climbed  carefully  down  and  shook.  Ponto's  im- 
mediate uproar  was  entirely  sufficient  to  inform  me  where 
the  'possum  was. 

When  we  would  get  home  with  a  'possum,  we  would 
skin  it  carefully.  The  skin  we  would  pull  down  over  a 
pointed  board  and  hang  up  to  dry,  for  a  'possum's  skin, 
properly  dried,  brought  us  twenty-five  cents.  But  the 
'possum  itself  would  go  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  next  day 
we  would  have  fresh  meat  for  dinner. 

But  despite  all  our  efforts  there  were  days  when  there 
would  be  neither  rabbit  nor  squirrel.  And  hunt  where 
we  might,  there  were  nights  when  Ponto's  bark  would 
never  be  heard.  And  the  next  day  mother's  eyes  would 
be  red  and  father's  face  would  be  drawn.  It  did  seem 
to  take  so  much  to  go  around,  and  when  there  was  so 
little  it  just  seemed  as  though  we  never  could  get  enough. 

And  then  I  got  sick.  It  began  one  night,  after  I  had 
gone  to  bed  without  much  supper.  I  dreamed  that  I 
stood  on  a  high  hill,  and  looked  down  into  an  abyss 
so  deep  that  I  could  see  no  bottom.  For  a  moment  all 
was  dark  below,  and  then  it  was  suddenly  illuminated 
with  a  light  so  brilliant  that  I  thought  my  head  would 
burst  with  the  glare.  And  suddenly  there  was  a  narrow 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          119 

belt  stretching  from  my  feet  right  down  into  the  white 
depth  beneath  me.  I  stepped  on  the  belt,  and  immediately 
began  to  slide  at  an  incredible  speed  along  it.  I  could 
look  off  on  either  side,  into  spaces  so  vast  that  my  mind 
reeled  at  thought  of  them;  behind  me  the  incline  was  so 
sharp  that  I  realised  I  could  never  draw  myself  up  again. 
I  must  go  down,  down,  forever  down.  And  then  in  a 
twinkling  I  was  at  the  bottom,  and  the  belt  was  bearing 
me  upward.  Far  up,  a  million  miles  or  more,  I  saw  a 
great  white  sphere  on  which  the  belt  was  revolving. 
Now  the  incline  was  so  steep  that  I  knew  I  must  clutch 
the  belt  to  keep  from  falling  into  the  never-ending  spaces 
on  either  side,  only  to  realise  in  a  wild  terror  that  there 
was  no  place  to  hold  to. 

It  seemed  that  I  had  been  on  this  belt  for  ages,  hurled 
from  one  white  sphere  to  another  in  a  glare  that  fairly 
burst  my  eyes,  when  I  felt  a  terrible  pressure  on  my  leg 
that  hurt  me.  I  put  down  my  hand  to  see  what  it  was, 
and  it  rested  on  father's  arm.  I  opened  my  eyes. 

I  was  on  a  pallet  by  the  fire.  Father  was  bending  over 
me,  one  hand  holding  tightly  to  my  leg,  and  the  other 
pressed  against  my  chest.  I  saw  mother  walking  wildly 
about  the  room,  and  Hen  and  Margaret  with  white  faces 
standing  looking  down  at  me.  I  struggled  to  get  free, 
but  father  pressed  me  down  again. 

"O,  daddie,  let  me  up,"  I  implored. 

"O,  my  boy !"  and  mother  sprang  toward  me,  pushing 
father  aside  as  though  he  were  a  straw.  She  gathered  me 
fiercely  into  her  arms  and  kissed  me  over  and  over  again. 
I  was  greatly  bewildered. 

"What  is  it,  mother?"  I  asked  weakly. 

"Do  you  remember  anything,  honey?"  she  asked. 

Then  I  remembered,  and  clutched  her  tightly  in  terror. 
They  told  me  that  I  had  been  sick  for  nearly  a  week,  that 


120          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

I  had  cried  out,  and  fought  so  fiercely  that  father  had  to 
hold  me ;  I  found  that  I  was  very  weak. 

Father  soon  went  to  bed  and  slept  for  a  long,  long 
time.  Mother  never  left  my  side.  The  second  day  I 
remembered  I  was  very  hungry. 

"Mother,  can  I  have  something  to  eat?"  I  whispered. 

She  looked  at  Hen  who  had  come  in  but  a  little  while 
before,  and  he  shook  his  head.  Then  she  went  in  the 
room  and  got  father  up.  He  dressed,  and  I  soon  saw 
him  go  out  with  the  rifle.  Hours  later  he  came  back, 
and,  coming  over  to  where  I  lay,  showed  me  a  large 
grey  squirrel. 

"See  that,  Ben?  You  will  soon  have  all  you  want  to 
eat." 

Margaret  had  water  boiling  in  the  kitchen,  and  soon 
she  put  before  me  a  big  bowl  of  gravy  and  a  piece  of 
pone.  I  took  little  bites  so  it  would  last  longer,  and  ate 
on  and  on.  Then  I  slept. 

That  night  mother  went  to  bed. 

The  next  day  she  placed  a  rocker  in  front  of  the  fire, 
put  a  warm  comfort  in  it,  and  set  me  down  in  it.  I 
sat  and  drowsed  and  slept.  When  she  had  time,  she 
sat  and  nursed  me  by  the  hour;  and  when  father  came 
in  he  would  take  me  in  his  arms  and  nurse  me. 

He  had  an  old  song  that  he  sang  to  me  over  and  over 
again.  The  words  were  queer,  and  the  tune  was  queerer 
still,  and  very  old,  but  it  rested  me  a  lot,  the  way  he 
sang  it : 

And  another  dear  blessing  Mary  had,  she  had  the  blessing  of 

three, 
To  know  that  her  son  Jesus  could  set  the  poor  sinners  free. 

It  went  on  and  on,  a  verse  for  every  number  up  to 
twelve.  It  was  number  seven  that  I  liked  best,  and  I  had 
him  sing  it  many  times :  • 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          121 

And  another  dear  blessing  Mary  had,  she  had  the  blessing  of 

seven, 
To  know  that  her  son  Jesus  could  unlock  the  doors  of  heaven. 

He  confided  to  me  that  he  had  learned  it  from  his  own 
mother  when  he  was  just  a  little  boy ;  and  he  told  me  all 
about  his  boyhood  in  the  great  log  house  at  Big  Bend. 

Day  by  day  I  got  stronger,  for  I  had  plenty  of  good 
things  to  eat.  It  was  only  when  I  was  up  and  around 
that  Hen  told  me  how  mother  had  done  without  her 
squirrel  in  order  to  give  it  to  me.  He  declared  fiercely 
that  he  wished  he  might  get  sick,  and  get  all  the  good, 
things. 

But  even  after  I  was  well,  the  hard  winter  was  still 
on.  Again  I  took  up  with  the  others  the  same  old 
struggle. 

But  one  day  a  letter  came  for  father — and  it  changed 
it  all. 


Chapter  9 

HEN  had  gone  for  the  mail.  Even  during  the  sum- 
mer it  came  but  twice  a  week,  being  brought  by 
horseback  from  Flatwoods,  miles  and  miles  away.  But 
during  the  winter  we  were  lucky  to  get  it  at  all.  For 
often  the  carrier  would  start  out,  get  about  half  way, 
and  be  balked  by  a  flood  or  a  storm.  He  would  then 
stop  and  leave  the  bag  at  the  last  house  he  could  reach. 
Now  the  people  at  this  house,  whoever  they  might  be, 
were  just  dying  to  know  what  was  in  this  or  that 
package  (for  the  carrier  always  opened  the  bag  so  any 
one  who  might  ride  over  could  get  his  mail)  and  often 
their  curiosity  so  far  got  the  better  of  them  that  the 
mail  never  reached  its  rightful  destination.  But  when 
it  did  come  through,  it  would  be  a  red  letter  day  at  the 
store.  Father  had  sent  Hen  up  on  this  particular  day. 

He  came  back  with  a  number  of  papers,  two  or  three 
back  copies  of  the  Journal  and  Messenger  which  Mar- 
garet fairly  clawed  out  of  his  hands,  for  she  was  read- 
ing a  continued  story — and  a  letter.  Father  held  the 
letter  in  his  hand  and  looked  it  over  and  over.  Mother 
regarded  him  impatiently. 

''Open  it,  Tommy,"  she  commanded. 

He  tore  it  open,  and  read  it.  He  folded  it  deliberately, 
took  it  by  the  corner,  and  flipped  his  boot  with  it; 
opened  it,  and  read  it  again.  Then  he  handed  it  to 
mother  without  a  word.  She  read  it,  glanced  up  quickly, 
and  went  over  to  him. 


122 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          123 

"O,  Tommy,  isn't  it  just  splendid !" 

"I  thought  it  would  come  sooner  or  later,"  he  said 
proudly. 

"O,  I  know.  But  now",  of  all  times !  O,  I  am  so 
happy." 

She  looked  it.  Mother  usually  looked  happy,  but  now 
she  just  glowed.  And  within  a  day  or  two  I  knew  the 
reason  so  well  that  I  could  recite  it  off  by  heart  as  glibly 
as  the  Lord's  Prayer  or  the  Apostles'  Creed.  It  was 
this: 

DEAR  BROTHER  RHODES: 

The  West  Virginia  Baptist  Association  meets  this  year 
at  Flatwoods,  and  at  a  meeting  of  the  Programme  Com- 
mittee held  yesterday  it  was  decided,  in  recognition  of 
your  past  services  to  the  Kingdom,  to  have  you  give  the 
closing  address  of  the  Association. 

As  in  past  years,  this  honour  will  carry  with  it  your 
expenses  to  the  Association,  as  well  as  a  free-will  offer- 
ing at  the  close. 

Affectionately  your  Brother, 

A.  H.  HAMMON. 

In  three  weeks  the  great  Association  was  to  be  held. 
A  few  days  after  the  letter  came,  father  received  a 
programme.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been 
asked  to  deliver  so  important  an  address,  and  little  else 
was  talked  of  around  our  house.  Father  wandered  aim- 
lessly through  the  woods  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  when 
he  returned  to  the  house  he  would  explain  each  new  point 
to  mother.  She  was  excited  to  death  over  it,  and  they 
would  talk  over  every  detail  and  weigh  each  word. 
When  the  great  day  came,  the  two  of  them  went  off 
together  on  horseback  to  the  railroad.  Mother  waved 
back  to  us  from  the  last  bend  and  I  felt  very  lonely, 
for  they  were  to  be  gone  for  four  days. 


124          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

The  time  passed  somehow,  and  on  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day  we  were  all  wedged  up  against  the  window 
watching  the  bend  in  the  road.  First  we  saw  old  Bill 
in  the  gloom  turn  the  bend,  and  next  Bird.  I  could  hardly 
see  mother,  she  looked  so  small  from  that  distance,  but 
I  knew  very  well  she  was  there,  and  that  she  had  man- 
aged to  slip  something  into  the  saddle-pockets  that  I 
would  like. 

The  horses  seemed  to  move  like  snails,  and  when  we 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer  we  rushed  through  the  door 
and  down  to  meet  them.  Father  called  out  a  big  "Hello" 
but  I  made  straight  for  mother.  She  jumped  down  out 
of  the  saddle  and  told  Hen  he  could  take  the  horse. 
,We  walked  home  side  by  side. 

Father  was  in  great  good  spirits,  and  after  taking 
off  the  saddle-pockets,  told  Hen  to  put  up  the  horses. 
Hen  edged  around  to  mother. 

"Mother,  tell  him  not  to  open  the  saddle-pockets  until 
I  get  back,"  he  said  hurriedly,  in  the  hope  that  I  would 
not  hear. 

"I  heard  you,  smarty." 

"Don't  care  if  you  did,"  he  answered  back. 

When  he  got  back  father  had  the  saddle-pockets  on 
his  knee.  He  drew  out  a  large  poke  and  handed  it  to 
me.  It  was  full  of  peanuts,  and  I  began  forthwith  to 
sample  them.  He  handed  Margaret  a  long  limp  pack- 
age, and  she  flew  to  the  fireplace  to  open  it.  It  was 
cloth  for  a  dress,  the  prettiest  dress  Margaret  had  ever 
had.  She  began  to  measure  it  around  her,  and  stick 
out  her  foot  to  see  how  far  down  it  would  go,  and 
how  it  looked  falling  around  her.  Next  he  held  out  a 
box  to  Hen.  When  Hen  opened  it  he  looked  long  and 
earnestly  without  a  word.  Then  he  caught  his  breath. 
It  was  two  linen  collars  and  some  ties.  Hen  had  been 
wearing  father's  collars,  which  were  much  too  big  for 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          125 

him.  Father  then  drew  out  a  bag  of  mixed  candy  which 
he  passed  around  to  all. 

"That's  all,  children,"  he  said,  turning  the  saddle- 
pocket  upside  down  and  shaking  it.  "But  no.  Bless  me, 
there  must  be  something  in  the  other  side.  It  feels 
heavy,"  and  he  looked  slyly  at  mother. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  could  be,"  she  said  seriously. 

"Why,  here  is  a  bundle.  What  could  it  be?  Here  is 
a  name  on  it,  as  I  live,  honey.  Mrs.  Anne  Rhodes,  I  do 
declare." 

"You  give  that  here,  now  sir,"  mother  said,  all  rosy 
and  nervous,  as  she  snatched  the  package  out  of  his 
hands. 

"Open  it  and  let's  see  what  it  is,"  father  ordered, 
as  though  he  were  greatly  perplexed  as  to  what  the  con- 
tents might  be. 

Mother  picked  at  the  cord  nervously,  eagerly,  and  at 
last  it  gave.  She  unwrapped  the  paper  hurriedly,  and 
then  caught  her  breath  in  a  sob  at  what  fell  out  on  her 
lap.  It  was  a  dress  of  pink  sateen,  all  shining  and  soft 
and  beautiful.  Mother  caught  it  up  and  buried  her 
face  in  it  and  flung  herself  in  father's  arms. 

"You  old  dear.  And  you  never  told  me  a  thing  about 
it.  O  Tommy,  Tommy!"  Mother  cried,  and  father's 
eyes  got  dim,  and  he  got  up  and  pushed  her  away  from 
him  roughly. 

"Get  away  from  here,"  he  laughed.  "Go  and  put  it 
on  and  we  will  see  how  you  look." 

"Not  now,  Tommie.    I'm  not  fixed  for  it." 

"Of  course  you  are.    We  want  to  see  you  in  it." 

She  tripped  laughing  into  the  bedroom  and  was  gone 
for  a  long  time.  We  did  not  hear  her  open  the  door, 
and  the  first  we  knew  she  was  ready  was  when  she 
spoke  from  the  door. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  it?" 


126          The  Manse  at  Barren  Hocks 

We  turned  and  saw  her.  Sfie  was  standing  there  slim 
and  straight.  The  dress  fell  down  around  her,  and  there 
was  an  arch  roguish  look  on  her  face  that  made  her 
very  good  to  look  at.  Father  reached  her  in  a  bound, 
gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and  brought  her  up  and 
set  her  down  in  front  of  the  fire.  O,  it  was  a  happy 
night.  We  looked  at  her  from  every  angle.  She  seemed 
to  be  getting  more  curious  all  the  time.  She  turned  to 
father. 

"Now  tell  me  how  much  was  in  the  collection,  Tom- 
mie." 

"Indeed  I  don't  know.  I  had  all  these  things  picked 
out  beforehand,  and  when  the  service  was  over  I  went 
out  and  paid  for  them  out  of  the  collection.  We  came 
away  in  such  a  hurry  that  I  have  not  counted  what  was 
left." 

"Tommy,  that  was  extravagant  of  you.  Count  it 
now." 

From  the  saddle-pockets  father  drew  a  large  cloth 
bag.  It  was  almost  full  of  money.  He  poured  it  out 
in  his  lap  and  counted  for  a  long  time.  There  were  pen- 
nies, nickels,  dimes,  quarters,  half-dollars,  dollars  and  a 
few  bills.  He  counted  and  counted,  laying  each  dollar 
in  a  little  heap  by  itself.  When  he  finally  finished,  he 
seemed  almost  astonished. 

"How  much?"  mother  asked. 

"How  much  would  you  say?"  he  answered. 

"Twenty  dollars?" 

"More  than  that." 

"Thirty?" 

"More  yet." 

"Tell  me." 

"Forty  dollars  left,  after  our  expenses  have  been  paid, 
and  what  I  bought  paid  for." 

Forty  dollars !    It  was  the  most  money  I  had  ever  seen 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         127, 

at  once  in  my  life.  And  forty  dollars  at  Barren  Rocks 
would  go  so  far !  Our  hard  winter  was  over.  It  meant 
shoes  and  warm  clothes  and  sugar  and  biscuits! 

That  night  at  prayers  father  prayed  a  long  time.  My 
feet  got  tired  kneeling,  and  the  side  that  was  toward  the 
fire  got  too  hot,  and  the  side  farthest  away  got  cold. 
I  thought  he  never  would  get  through,  but  I  thought  it 
was  very  nice  that  he  closed  it  up  like  he  did.  He  said : 

"And  we  thank  thee,  O  God,  that  thou  hast  never 
forsaken  us,  but  hast  always  kept  us  as  under  the  shadow 
of  thy  wing." 


Chapter  10 

NO  doubt  a  cow  is  a  very  essential  piece  of  prop- 
erty. I  never  did  like  butter,  and  could  not  bear 
sweet  milk.  I  liked  fresh  buttermilk,  but  we  did  not 
have  it  very  often.  For  what  I  got  out  of  it,  I  would 
gladly  have  dispensed  with  a  cow  altogether,  but  we  had 
one,  partly,  I  suppose,  because  every  one  else  had. 

The  wildest  enthusiasm  could  not  find  anything  of 
beauty  in  our  old  cow.  She  was  black,  coal  black  all 
over,  and  very  poor.  She  had  large  ears,  a  boney  head, 
and  was  knock-kneed. 

Cows  are  usually  spoken  of  as  mild-eyed  and  docile. 
And  what  is  more,  the  average  cow  really  seems  to  be 
a  tame  innocent  inoffensive  creature.  But  our  old  black 
cow  was  none  of  these.  Her  eyes  were  hard,  and  the 
look  of  them  was  one  of  mocking  hate.  The  very  way 
her  legs  bowed  in  gave  a  suggestion  of  braggart  swag- 
ger that  was  extremely  offensive.  And  she  had  a  way 
of  switching  her  long  burr-knobbed  tail  that  was  like 
waving  an  insolent  challenge  to  all  creatures.  Her  name 
was  Boss. 

Now  Boss  had  no  regular  pasture  in  which  to  graze. 
There  were  no  regular  pastures  around  Barren  Rocks. 
There  was  no  cleared  place  big  enough  for  one,  except 
the  corn  fields,  and  nothing  grew  on  them  but  weeds. 
The  people  let  their  cows  run  at  large  in  the  woods, 
and  browse.  Most  of  the  cows  when  turned  out  in  the 
spring  would  not  go  very  far  from  home.  They  would 

128 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          129 

browse  on  the  trees  near  at  hand,  and  usually  manage 
to  be  near  by  when  milking  time  came.  But  it  was  here 
that  old  Boss  showed  her  originality,  if  not  her  down- 
right fiendishness.  The  farther  she  got  from  home  the 
better  she  seemed  satisfied.  She  really  seemed  built  for 
long  distance  travel,  for  instead  of  being  fat  and  closely 
put  together  like  the  other  cows,  she  was  lean  and 
rangy,  and  no  distance  was  too  great  for  her  to  cover. 

Father  declared  to  mother  one  evening  that  the  cow 
was  possessed  of  a  devil,  and  while  I  didn't  know  exactly 
what  he  meant  it  sounded  so  awful  that  I  was  ready 
to  agree  with  him  on  the  spot.  For,  you  see,  it  was  my 
job  to  hunt  the  cow  when  she  had  wandered  off,*  and 
bring  her  back  for  milking  time.  Since  she  wore  a  bell 
that  could  be  heard  for  quite  a  distance,  this  might  not 
seem  at  first  blush  such  a  difficult  undertaking.  But  she 
had  mile  after  mile  to  wander  in,  and  aside  from  roam- 
ing at  will,  she  had  an  uncanny  prescience  in  certain 
matters,  and  seemed  to  know  when  I  was  near  in  search 
of  her.  For  she  would  stand  without  moving  for  hours 
so  the  bell  would  not  ring.  And  at  such  times  it  was 
only  by  the  merest  accident  that  I  would  be  within  hear- 
ing distance  when  she  swung  her  head  around  to  lick 
off  the  flies.  But  when  she  did  this,  the  bell  clattered 
for  an  instant,  and  gave  her  away. 

I  had  been  told  somewhat  sternly  that  when  I  went 
to  get  the  cow  I  went  to  get  the  cow,  and  that  I  was 
not  to  come  back  without  her.  Father  was  like  that. 
When  he  said  a  thing  there  was  an  air  of  finality  about 
it  that  made  it  seem  perfectly  hopeless. 

There  were  two  places  where  old  Boss  usually  went 
when  she  ran  away.  One  was  the  Hingle  Place.  It 
was  about  three  miles  up  the  river.  The  path  to  it  led 
along  the  river  bank,  through  water  weeds,  nettles,  and 
the  pink  crawling  vines  that  rode  the  weeds  down  in  a 


130          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

tangle.  It  was  this  vine  that  we  broke  off  to  find  out 
how  long  it  would  be  until  we  should  get  married.  Each 
tiny  tendril  running  out  from  the  main  vine  meant  a  year. 
Minnie  McRand  usually  broke  hers  off  short,  for  she 
was  getting  well  on. 

There  were  snakes  along  this  path,  too.  Great  water 
moccasins  crawled  up  from  the  river  and  stretched  out 
their  dark  stubby  bodies  to  warm  in  the  sun ;  and  copper- 
heads from  the  hills  crawled  down  to  the  water  in  the 
dry  seasons.  Even  where  there  were  no  snakes  to  be 
seen,  the  bark  that  fell  off  the  sycamores  curled  up  in 
long  brown  strips  and  looked  enough  like  snakes  to 
make  one  jump  back  when  he  should  see  it  fleetingly 
through  the  weeds.  Hingle  Place  itself  was  a  regular 
nightmare  along  about  dusk.  There  was  a  clearing  all 
grown  up  with  high  weeds,  an  old  apple  tree  near  the 
lower  end,  and  in  the  centre  a  dilapidated  old  house,  with 
the  roof  falling  in  and  the  windows  simply  naked  holes. 
Rude  Hamilton  told  me  that  two  old  people  had  one 
time  lived  there;  that  the  old  woman  had  died,  and  the 
old  man,  broken  hearted,  had  stabbed  himself  and  died 
at  her  side,  and  that  they  had  simply  lain  there  without 
being  buried.  Every  time  I  went  up  that  way  after  our 
old  cow,  I  thought  I  could  see  the  bones  of  the  old  couple 
bleached  and  twisted  near  the  old  fireplace. 

Honnells  Gap  was  the  other  place  where  I  usually 
looked  for  Boss  when  she  was  not  at  the  Hingle  Place. 
There  was  nothing  very  frightful  about  Honnells  Gap, 
only  it  was  farther  from  home  than  the  Hingle  Place, 
and  when  I  had  to  go  there  it  was  usually  dark  when 
I  got  back  home. 

There  was  another  circumstance  that  made  cow  hunt- 
ing a  terrible  thing  for  me.  It  was  said  there  were  mad 
dogs  running  about  wild.  Now  if  there  was  one  thing 
I  dreaded  above  all  others  it  was  a  mad  dog.  To  think 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          131 

of  meeting  one  on  some  lonely  path,  and  see  it  come 
loping  toward  me,  its  mouth  open  and  slavering  and 
driveling  hectic  froth,  its  eyes  hot  and  feverish,  simply 
made  my  blood  run  cold.  I  had  seen  a  great  footprint 
as  of  an  enormous  dog  on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence  near 
our  house,  and. I  pictured  the  brute  mad  and  running 
wildly  about  over  near  the  Hingle  Place. 

So  one  afternoon  when  I  started  out  to  bring  old 
Boss  home,  it  was  with  no  anticipation  of  a  beautiful 
ramble  through  the  sylvan  shades,  as  father  sometimes 
called  the  woods  in  his  sermons.  It  was  with  a  com- 
bined image  of  copperheads,  water  moccasins,  mad  dogs 
and  twisted  -skeletons  that  I  fared  forth. 

I  had  not  gone  very  far  when  I  saw  Grouchie  McRand 
slouching  along  in  front  of  me.  My  heart  gave  a  great 
leap  of  relief,  for  it  was  sometimes  possible  to  inveigle 
him  to  go  along  with  me.  But  he  now  seemed  more  bent 
on  avoiding  being  seen  than  anything  else.  I  was  mysti- 
fied, for  of  all  the  boys  I  knew  Grouchie  was  the  last 
one  to  avoid  attention.  He  usually  sought  it,  and  was 
never  more  in  his  element  than  when  the  centre  of  con- 
versation at  the  store. 

"  'Lo,  Grouch,"  I  called  ingratiatingly  when  I  was 
near  enough.  I  would  have  done  anything  to  win  him 
to  going  with  me. 

"  'Lo,"  he  muttered  shortly. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Grouch?" 

"Nowhere;  where  you?" 

"After  the  cow.    Want  to  go  along?" 

"Guess  not !  Did  you  hear  of  the  fight  between  a  mad 
dog  and  a  lynx  up  next  the  Hingle  Place  last  night  ?" 

I  felt  the  hot  blood  running  up  to  my  face.  I  was 
almost  smothered. 

"Don't,  believe  it." 

"Don't  have  to.    But  you  will  if  you  go  up  there  and 


132          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

see  the  blood  on  the  ground  where  they  fit.  You  will 
pass  right  by  it  on  your  way  up." 

"I  ain't  afraid,"  I  lied  stoutly.  "Dare  you  to  come 
along." 

"Huh,  I  got  something  better'n  that  to  do." 

"What?" 

"Won't  tell." 

"You  are  afraid." 

"I'll  tell  you  if  you  promise  not  to  tell." 

"Cross  my  heart,  and  hope  I  may  die." 

He  held  out  four  long  black  stogies  and  some  matches. 

"See  that?    How  would  you  like  to  have  one?" 

I  looked  all  about  me  quickly  to  make  sure  no  one  was 
in  sight. 

"Where  did  you  get  'em?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"Store.    Want  one?" 

For  answer  I  closed  my  fingers  eagerly  over  one.  I 
had  never  smoked  before.  Besides,  mother  said  it  was 
wicked  for  boys  to  smoke,  and  father  had  said  he  would 
punish  me  severely  if  he  ever  heard  of  my  smoking. 
And  he  had  said  it  with  such  a  hopeless  inevitable  air 
that  I  expected  nothing  less  than  to  be  skinned  alive, 
just  like  the  pictures  said  the  martyrs  had  been,  if  he 
ever  caught  me  at  it.  But  we  were  away  up  the  river, 
and  I  knew  father  was  at  home.  And  besides,  I  never 
wanted  anything  in  my  life  like  I  wanted  that  stogy.  I 
wanted  to  stick  the  end  of  it  in  my  mouth,  and  light 
the  other  end  and  puff  out  great  clouds  of  smoke  in 
the  most  manly  and  up-to-date  fashion  I  could  conceive. 

Grouchie  took  one  also,  and  we  carefully  bit  the  ends 
off.  He  struck  a  match  on  a  rock  and  held  it  out  to 
my  stogy.  I  drew  back. 

"You  do  it  first,"  I  suggested. 

He  looked  about  him  again.  Then  he  started  up  on 
the  bank. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         133 

"We  better  get  out  of  sight,  for  fear  some  one  comes 
along."  « 

Together  we  climbed  up  the  bank  and  sat  down  be- 
hind a  big  rock.  Then  we  both  lit  our  stogies  and  began. 
The  smoke  that  I  drew  into  my  mouth  was  stronger 
and  stung  more  than  I  had  expected,  but  it  was  a  great 
thing,  even  at  that.  I  looked  over  at  Grouchie.  He 
sat  humped  up,  his  brows  puckered,  pulling  at  his  so 
furiously  that  it  made  great  hollows  in  his  cheeks. 

"Draw  hard,  Ben.  You  don't  make  half  the  smoke 
I  do,"  he  scoffed. 

I  was  determined  not  to  be  outdone.  Grouchie  and 
most  of  the  other  boys  had  a  fashion  of  making  fun  of 
me  at  times.  I  guess  it  was  because  I  was  younger 
than  they  were,  but  I  was  determined  that  I  would 
smoke  as  hard  as  he  did,  even  if  I  was  younger.  To- 
gether we  pulled,  and  so  steadily  that  the  first  two 
stogies  were  soon  gone.  I  felt  a  dull  sensation  up  above 
my  eyes,  and  would  willingly  have  quit  at  that,  but  when 
Grouchie  suggested  that  we  finish  the  other  two,  I  de- 
clared that  it  would  be  the  greatest  fun  in  the  world. 
We  lit  them  and  started  in  headlong.  But  we  began  to 
slow  down  before  they  were  more  than  half  finished. 

Grouchie  laid  his  up  on  the  side  of  the  rock,  and  looked 
at  me  searchingly.  I  held  mine  off  at  arm's  length  and 
looked  critically  at  the  business  end  of  it. 

"Believe  it's  gone  out,"  I  suggested  nervously. 

Grouchie  got  up  and  straightened  himself  out.  His 
pants  came  down  a  few  inches  below  his  knees,  and 
as  he  stood  up  they  were  all  wrinkled  and  puckered  about 
his  knees.  He  placed  one  hand  over  against  the  rock, 
and  leaned  on  it  heavily.  Then  he  sat  down  and  his 
body  relaxed. 

"How  do  you  feel  ?"  he  asked. 

"Fine,"  I  answered. 


134          The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

"Stand  up,"  he  said. 

I  stood  up.  As  I  unbent,  my  eyes  seemed  to  dance 
giddily,  and  I  also  leaned  over  against  the  rock.  This 
gave  me  fair  support,  but  there  came  a  vacant  feeling 
at  the  pit  of  my  stomach  that  was  anything  but  pleas- 
ant. I  sat  down  quickly. 

"Feel  funny  ?"  Grouchie  asked. 

"Some,"  I  admitted. 

We  sat  a  long  time  in  silence,  looking  dully  about 
us.  Grouchie  got  up  again  and  looked  about  him. 

"There's  some  paw-paws,"  he  said  suddenly,  "all  ripe 
and  black.  They  will  fix  us  up,"  and  he  made  for  the 
tree. 

He  brought  back  three.  They  were  large  and  black, 
but  they  were  warm,  since  they  had  been  lying  in  the 
sun.  They  tasted  warm  and  sickly  sweet,  but  Grouchie 
declared  they  were  just  what  we  needed,  so  we  finished 
them  bravely  and  flipped  the  black  seeds  away.  Then  we 
waited. 

Grouchie  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Believe  I'll  take  a  nap,"  he  suggested,  and  lay  down 
limply  on  the  ground.  His  face  was  white,  and  his  eyes 
rolled  about  until  they  looked  all  white. 

I  lay  down  too.  There  was  a  turbulent  rolling  sen- 
sation inside  that  made  me  glad  to  stretch  out.  But 
stretching  did  not  seem  to  do  much  good.  We  lay  there 
a  long  time,  and  finally  Grouchie  got  up  and  dragged 
himself  weakly  down  toward  the  road. 

"Guess  I'll  go  home,"  he  announced. 

I  lay  with  my  hands  under  my  head  and  watched  him 
out  of  sight.  He  looked  wretched  and  forlorn  as  he 
went  away,  and  I  wondered  idly  when  he  would  get 
home. 

It  was  not  until  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees  began 
to  fall  over  the  river  that  I  realised  where  I  was  and 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          135 

what  I  had  been  about.  I  sat  up  suddenly  and  looked  up 
toward  the  Hingle  Place.  It  was  already  a  sombre  place, 
the  long  evening  shadows  falling  gloomily  over  it.  I  got 
up  and  started  toward  it  on  a  dead  run.  My  legs  were 
wabbly  and  I  felt  wretchedly  weak,  but  I  held  myself 
rigidly  on. 

I  imagined  I  could  see  a  fat  pouchy  snake  under  every 
weed,  and  my  only  safety  seemed  in  running  wildly 
along.  When  I  reached  the  Hingle  Place  I  was  out  of 
breath  but  determined.  I  stopped  a  moment  and  listened 
for  the  cow  bell.  It  was  not  to  be  heard.  I  waited  a 
moment  longer,  thinking  perhaps  old  Boss  would  throw 
her  head  back  to  lick  off  the  flies  and  give  herself  away, 
but  there  was  no  sound. 

In  nameless  terror  I  climbed  up  over  the  rock  cliffs 
and  started  toward  Honnells  Gap.  At  every  cliff  I 
imagined  a  great  bear  or  lynx  or  that  most  nameless 
horror  of  all,  a  catamount  But  I  reached  the  Gap  safely, 
and  searched  in  every  conceivable  spot.  But  no  Boss. 

Then  I  started  home.  From  Honnells  Gap  I  could 
not  go  back  home  by  the  river  path.  Bad  as  was  this  river 
path  my  present  route  was  worse.  It  lay  along  the 
ridge  for  a  mile  or  more  through  the  woods,  then  it 
crossed  a  deep  hollow,  and  the  last  part  lay  down  the 
long  steep  hill,  covered  with  laurel  and  ivy,  thick  in  dense 
undergrowth,  and  crisscrossed  with  endless  grape  vines. 
It  was  this  part  that  I  dreaded  most,  although  the  other 
was  bad  enough. 

I  went  more  in  a  run  than  at  a  walk.  Over  fallen  trees, 
round  thick  clumps  of  bushes  and  through  the  dark 
woods  I  went  at  a  furious  pace. 

I  was  almost  to  the  last  stretch  when  an  ominous 
sound  in  front  and  to  the  left  caused  me  to  halt  abruptly. 
Something  was  lumbering  noisily  through  the  under- 
brush, emitting  low  threatening  growls  at  intervals.  I 


136          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

knew  before  I  saw  it  just  what  it  was.  But  one  glimpse 
of  its  grisly  body  made  me  absolutely  sure.  It  was  an 
enormous  grisly  bear.  The  evidence  of  sight  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  confirm  this  opinion,  but  when 
sound  was  added,  all  the  evidence  that  could  possibly 
be  desired  was  furnished.  I  asked  for  no  more,  at  least. 

Filled  with  a  terror  that  flung  all  caution  or  fore- 
thought to  the  winds,  my  only  impulse  was  to  reach  home, 
and  to  do  that  one  thing  in  the  quickest  possible  man- 
ner. The  nearest  way  home  was  as  the  crow  would  fly, 
and  I  took  that  route.  Heedless  of  the  direction  of  the 
path,  I  followed  my  instinct  and  made  for  home  the 
most  direct  way.  My  first  movement  was  to  jump,  and 
I  jumped  straight  toward  home,  as  though  hoping  to 
clear  the  distance  at  a  single  leap.  The  hill  was  very 
steep,  and  the  jump  carried  me  quite  a  way,  but  brought 
me  down  on  top  of  a  laurel  bush.  I  scrambled  up  and 
made  another  flying  start  for  home.  And  it  was  in  this 
way — jumping  over  logs,  tearing  through  the  grape  vines, 
falling,  rolling,  running,  that  I  went  home.  When  I  got 
there  I  burst  into  the  house  almost  in  hysterics. 

No  wonder  I  gave  them  such  a  fright,  for  I  was  pale 
as  a  sheet,  my  clothes  were  torn,  and  I  was  covered  with 
blood  from  scratches  on  my  hands  and  face.  But  I 
did  not  know  of  this  at  the  time.  I  simply  danced  about 
and  waved  my  hands  and  shouted  that  a  great  grisly  bear 
was  after  me,  full  tilt. 

There  was  a  general  hubbub.  Hen  looked  scared, 
mother  was  trying  to  quiet  me,  and  father  looked  grave. 

"Where  did  you  see  it,  son  ?" 

"Right  at  the  top  of  the  hill,"  I  cried. 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  a  bear?" 

"Of  course  I  am,"  I  chattered.  "Didn't  I  see  it  and 
hear  it  growl  ?"  Then  I  began  to  cry,  partly  at  helpless 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          137 

anger  from  not  being  believed.  For  I  could  see  that 
father  was  inclined  to  doubt  what  I  said. 

"We  will  get  the  gun,  Henry,  and  go  and  see  what 
we  can  find,"  he  announced  more  solemnly.  "Anne, 
wash  the  boy's  face  and  get  him  ready  to  go  along 
back  with  us." 

We  soon  started.  Father  had  reloaded  the  big  rifle, 
and  had  put  a  double  charge  of  powder  in  it.  I  bristled 
with  pride,  for  I  knew  the  great  bullet,  hurled  with  such 
a  charge  of  powder,  would  crash  through  the  forehead 
of  any  bear.  I  had  seen  it  shot  before  when  it  was 
filled  like  that.  The  only  thing  I  feared  was  that  the 
bear  would  be  gone.  I  should  never  get  over  it  if  it 
was.  for  Hen  could  never  let  me  forget  it,  and  father 
would  say  I  had  been  mistaken.  Hen 'held  old  Ponto 
to  a  leash,  to  keep  him  back  for  an  emergency.  When 
we  got  near  the  top  of  the  hill  I  could  see  him  straining, 
and  I  knew  he  smelled  something  that  excited  him 
greatly. 

We  reached  the  place  where  I  had  first  seen  it.  I 
pointed  out  the  e^act  spot  to  father.  He  looked  around 
cautiously,  then  listened.  There  was  no  sound.  My 
heart  sank  within  me,  but  rallied  again  when  I  heard 
a  movement  in  the  brush  over  to  our  right. 

"Hear  it  ?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

Ponto  growled  savagely. 

"Something  over  there,"  father  conceded.  "Hen, 
loose  Ponto." 

Hen  untied  the  leash.  Ponto  sprang  fearlessly  toward 
the  sound.  We  waited.  Soon  he  came  back,  panting 
slightly  and  looking  up  at  us  expectantly. 

"Can't  understand  it,"  father  muttered. 

"Maybe  he's  seen  what  it  is,  and  has  come  back  afraid 
of  it,"  was  my  interpretation. 


138          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Then  there  was  a  low  growl  from  the  woods,  and  then 
another  and  another. 

"Hear  it?"  I  encouraged. 

Father  listened  sharply  for  several  minutes,  then 
broke  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  laughed  on  and  on  for  a 
long  time. 

I  was  furious. 

"What  you  laughing  at?"  I  demanded. 

"Come  and  see  your  bear,  Ben,"  he  answered. 

He  started  off  fearlessly  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

"Better  watch  out,"  I  cautioned,  holding  back. 

"Come  on,"  he  laughed. 

As  we  drew  nearer  there  was  another  growl,  but 
this  time  there  seemed  something  familiar  about  it. 
My  heart  sank  within  me.  Father  hurried  ahead  and 
threw  the  bushes  apart. 

"Here's  your  bear,  Ben,"  he  announced. 

As  I  looked  I  heard  Hen  laugh  scornfully,  and  wished 
the  earth  would  open  and  swallow  me  up.  Standing 
contentedly  before  us  was  one  of  our  own  large  sandy 
razor-backs. 


Chapter  II 

HEN  had  always  been  a  great  student  at  school. 
He  did  not  work  much  harder  than  several  of  the 
other  older  pupils,  but  he  was  always  far  ahead  of 
them.  He  just  seemed  naturally  to  get  along  better  than 
they  did.  Year  after  year  the  teachers  came  down  to 
visit  us,  and  they  never  failed  to  say  that  Hen  was  a 
great  student;  at  times  they  even  went  so  far  as  to 
declare  that  he  had  a  promising  future  before  him. 

Outwardly  Hen  himself  did  not  seem  to  pay  much  at- 
tention to  these  remarks.  But  occasionally  when  we  went 
up  on  the  hill  to  drag  down  fodder  for  the  cow  and 
horses,  he  became  confidential,  and  told  me  of  all  the 
wonderful  things  he  meant  to  do  when  he  grew  up. 
On  such  occasions  his  eyes  smouldered  with  a  strange 
fire,  and  he  squared  his  shoulders  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  some  immediate  antagonist. 

Of  late  months  he  and  father  had  got  in  the  habit  of 
taking  long  walks  through  the  woods.  They  would  start 
off  and  wander  about  aimlessly,  but  all  the  while  talking 
in  an  absorbed  manner  about  something  that  I  was 
unable  to  understand.  After  such  a  trip,  they  made 
many  mysterious  references  to  higher  education,  to  the 
power  of  knowledge,  and  to  the  demands  of  the  new 
age. 

It  was  all  very  mysterious  to  me.  I  had  been  the 
baby  in  the  family  for  so  long  that  everybody  seemed 

139 


140          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

to  look  upon  me  as  very  immature ;  and  I  was :  Their 
thinking  it  made  me  so. 

But  one  day  the  whole  matter  was  cleared  up  by  the 
appearance  of  a  stranger.  He  was  Professor  Notting- 
dale,  he  told  father,  and  had  come  in  response  to  a 
recent  communication,  whatever  that  was. 

He  and  father  walked  out  to  the  river  bank,  and  stood 
talking  for  a  long  time.  I  did  not  go  out,  for  I  thought 
father  did  not  want  me.  When  it  came  time  for  Pro- 
fessor Nottingdale  to  leave,  he  seemed  very  cordial. 

"Yes,  sir,  I'll  see  to  that.  And  we  will  do  our  best 
for  him." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Well,  well,  good-bye.  The  twen- 
tieth, did  you  say?  That's  all  right.  He  will  be  on 
hand." 

I  stood  and  watched  Professor  Nottingdale  cross  the 
river  and  disappear  down  the  bend.  Father  came  into 
the  house  and  called  mother. 

"Well,  it  is  all  arranged,"  he  said. 

He  seemed  greatly  pleased.  But  mother  did  not  seem 
so  happy  about  it. 

"Is  he  to  go?"  she  asked. 

"To  start  in,  the  twentieth  of  September.  That  is 
a  great  chance  for  the  boy." 

"What  is  it,  mother?"  I  asked. 

"Henry  is  to  go  to  Sistersville  to  the  Seminary,"  she 
said  listlessly. 

"What  is  a  Seminary?" 

"The  Calhoun  Seminary.  It  is  a  school  for  young 
men,"  father  said. 

"And  is  Hen  to  go  there?" 

"He  is,  and  he  starts  the  twentieth  of  next  month." 

So  that  was  it.  That  was  the  cause  of  the  long  walks ; 
the  mysterious  references  to  higher  education  and  the 
demands  of  the  new  age. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          141 

"But  I  thought  Hen  had  finished  school,"  I  persisted. 

"He  just  finished  the  school  here.  He  will  go  to 
Calhoun  four  years,  and  then  on  to  college,  and  then 
still  on." 

"What  will  he  study  about?" 

"Henry  is  going  to  be  a  doctor,"  father  said  with  con- 
viction. It  seemed  that  that  fact  settled  the  whole  mat- 
ter in  his  mind. 

Hen  came  in  later,  and  when  father  told  him  the 
arrangement  that  had  been  made,  he  was  jubilant. 
Mother  was  the  only  one  that  did  not  seem  impressed. 
She  left  us  soon  and  went  into  the  little  back  room  off 
the  kitchen  where  we  stored  the  odds  and  ends.  When 
she  came  out  to  get  supper  her  eyes  were  very  red. 

I  saw,  and  instantly  realised  that  something  was 
wrong.  I  went  up  to  her  in  a  protecting  way,  as  I 
always  did  when  there  was  anything  the  matter.  But 
to  my  great  amazement  she  pushed  me  away  roughly. 

"Do  go  away,  Ben,  and  let  me  alone." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  Mother  had  never  spoken  to 
me  that  way  before.  I  felt  greatly  abused.  It  was  as 
if  my  thoughtfulness  had  been  unappreciated.  And  I 
went  away  feeling  that  I  never  could  forgive  her. 

At  supper  she  was  a  little  more  cheerful,  but  she  did 
not  eat  much.  I  thought  to  make  it  plain  to  her  that 
she  had  hurt  me  deeply,  and  decided  to  be  very  cold. 
But  to  my  chagrin,  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  me  at 
all.  And  she  made  matters  all  the  worse  by  bestowing 
upon  Hen  completely  unnecessary  attention.  She  saw 
to  it  that  he  got  all  he  could  eat  of  everything  on  the 
table;  and  when  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  she  looked 
long  at  him. 

During  the  ensuing  weeks,  she  did  little  else  but  fix 
things  for  Hen  to  wear.  She  made  him  shirts,  knitted 
warm  socks  for  him,  and  a  pair  of  heavy  gloves.  She 


142          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

mended  and  fixed  up  all  his  clothes,  and  pampered  him 
so  indulgently  that  I  was  outraged. 

Nor  was  that  all.  She  had  father  get  a  big  yellow 
suit  case  for  him.  This  she  took  into  the  little  storage 
room,  and,  as  she  finished  something  for  him  to  wear, 
took  it  in  and  packed  it  neatly  away. 

The  great  day  arrived  at  last.  I  was  to  take  Hen  to 
Monroe  where  he  should  catch  the  train  for  Sistersville. 
Breakfast  over  (and  at  breakfast  mother  pressed  Hen 
so  persistently  to  eat  all  he  wanted  that  I  was  completely 
disgusted)  I  went  out  to  saddle  the  horses. 

That  was  another  thing.  Of  late  I  had  had  to  do  all 
the  hard  work,  while  Hen  prepared  to  "enter  his  class- 
es." It  was  a  fine  thing  for  him,  for  he  sat  lazily 
about  and  read  while  I  broke  my  back  with  the  stove 
wood.  But  it  was  not  nice  for  me.  I  went  to  mother 
about  it.  I  hated  to  go  to  her,  for  I  had  not  forgiven 
her  yet  for  the  way  she  had  treated  me.  But  I  was 
willing  to  swallow  my  pride  if  I  could  get  Hen  out  to 
help  me  with  the  work. 

"Mother,  make  Hen  come  and  help  me,"  I  demanded. 

"O,  run  along,  Ben.    You  will  not  hurt  yourself." 

I  went  along,  all  right,  but  not  in  a  very  happy  frame 
of  mind.  To  make  it  all  the  worse,  I  passed  Hen  on 
my  way  to  the  wood  pile.  He  was  sitting  out  in  the 
shade,  lazily  reading  a  book.  As  I  passed  him,  he  looked 
up  and  grinned. 

"Run  along,  son.  The  wood  must  be  in  on  time," 
he  said. 

How  I  wished  that  I  were  as  big  as  he!  If  I  had 
been,  I  should  have  gone  right  up  to  him  and  had  it 
out  with  him.  But  as  it  was  I  went  on  out  and  chopped 
the  wood. 

So  when  the  morning  arrived  on  which  he  was  to 
leave,  I  had  to  go  out  and  saddle  the  horses  while  he 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          143 

put  on  his  fine  clothes.  Father  had  got  him  a  store  suit, 
and  when  I  came  back  leading  the  horses,  he  was 
dressed  in  it.  He  did  look  splendid,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  said  so  for  the  world — not  after  the  way  I  had 
slaved  for  him. 

I  was  to  ride  Bird  and  Hen  was  to  ride  Bill.  Father 
came  out  of  the  house  carrying  the  suit  case.  He  took 
it  over  and  strapped  it  securely  to  Bill's  saddle. 

"I  guess  that  will  hold  you,"  he  said. 

Then  he  went  up  to  Hen.  He  took  his  hand  and 
gripped  it  hard. 

"Well,  my  boy,  good  luck  to  you,  and  God  bless 
you." 

Margaret  stood  on  the  steps,  slim  and  miserable. 
Mother  was  not  in  sight. 

Hen  got  on  old  Bill,  settled  himself  in  the  saddle,  and 
waved  a  cheerful  good-bye.  I  got  on  Bird,  and  looked 
back  over  my  shoulder.  Margaret  and  father  were 
standing  watching  us  and — at  the  bedroom  window, 
mother  stood.  With  one  hand  she  held  back  the  cur- 
tain ;  and  she  was  looking  after  Hen  as  he  trotted  away, 
in  a  way  that  made  me  intensely  jealous.  As  I  turned 
away,  she  put  a  handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes. 

For  the  moment,  I  wished  that  I  were  going  away, 
never  to  return;  or  that  I  were  in  some  great  peril. 
For  the  attention  that  Hen  was  receiving  made  me 
almost  hate  him. 

But  as  we  rode  on — across  the  creeks,  up  the  moun- 
tains, along  the  ridges  and  through  the  vast  forests,  I 
felt  the  old  resentment  breaking  down,  and  in  its  stead 
a  sense  of  companionship  such  as  I  had  never  felt  for 
him  before.  We  had  grown  up  together,  I  thought;  we 
had  always  played  side  by  side,  and  he  had  always 
fought  for  me.  And  as  the  hours  wore  away  our  talk 


144 

* 

became  more  intimate,  more  considerate,  more  de- 
lightful. 

It  was  when  I  got  well  along  on  my  return  trip  the 
next  day  that  a  great  loneliness  came  upon  me.  I  had 
tied  old  Bill's  halter  to  the  horn  of  my  saddle,  so  that  I 
would  not  have  to  lead  him.  And  when  Bird  struck 
up  a  trot,  he  lagged  behind  and  the  halter  sawed  across 
my  leg.  It  was  irritation  at  old  Bill's  laziness  that 
first  made  me  wish  Hen  were  along.  But  as  the  day 
passed,  I  wanted  some  one  to  talk  to.  When  I  passed 
by  the  place  where  we  had  eaten  our  lunch  the  day 
before,  a  lump  came  into  my  throat. 

And  when,  late  in  the  evening,  I  reached  home,  I 
found  a  great  gloom  there.  Father  sat  musing,  and 
mother  looked  up  frequently  from  her  work  and  sighed. 
Even  Margaret  seemed  affected.  And  again  the  sharp 
pang  of  jealousy  shot  through  me.  But  as  the  long 
evening  wore  on,  I  missed  Hen  too,  and  became  silent 
like  the  others. 

But  if  Hen's  going  had  changed  somewhat  my  status 
at  home,  I  was  soon  to  learn  to  my  sorrow  that  it  had 
made  a  difference  away  from  home.  Hen  had  been  big 
and  hard,  and  when  any  of  the  older  boys  picked  on  me, 
he  usually  dealt  with  them  in  such  a  summary  manner 
that  they  were  willing  to  meet  any  terms  he  might  im- 
pose. 

But  the  first  time  I  met  with  the  boys  after  he  went 
away,  I  noticed  a  subtle  change.  Little  was  said,  but 
Ed  Rainey  snatched  an  apple  from  me,  bit  a  huge  bite 
out  of  it,  and  passed  it  on.  When  at  last  it  returned 
to  me,  it  was  little  more  than  the  core.  I  was  thunder- 
struck, and  looked  about  me  helplessly.  To  no  one  in 
particular,  I  cried  out, 

"Aw,  make  them  give  me  back  my  apple." 

It  was  not  so  much  for  the  literal  return  of  the  apple 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          145 

that  I  cried,  as  for  summary  vengeance  upon  those  who 
had  robbed  me.  But  to  my  amazement,  there  was  no 
reply  save  a  general  laugh.  Ed  Rainey  even  called  out 
something  about  a  coward,  and  the  crowd  moved  on 
toward  the  swimming  hole. 

Arrived  there,  we  speedily  undressed  and  jumped  in. 
Now  there  was  one  thing  that  I  did  not  like  in  the 
water.  I  could  swim,  all  right.  All  of  us  could  swim 
from  the  time  we  could  remember.  But  if  any  one 
should  slip  up  on  me  and  duck  me,  I  would  strangle. 
And  it  had  been  generally  understood  that  I  was  not  to 
be  ducked.  But  no  sooner  had  we  got  fairly  cooled  off 
than  Ed  Rainey  slipped  up  behind  me,  put  his  hand  on 
the  top  of  my  head,  and  pushed  down  hard.  I  went 
away  under.  When  I  came  up  I  was  strangling  and 
coughing.  I  swam  jerkily  to  the  bank  and  glared  at 
Ed.  He  laughed.  And  every  one  else  laughed.  I  put 
on  my  clothes  and  went  home. 

But  I  couldn't  stay  at  home  all  the  time.  And  yet 
whenever  I  went  out  it  was  the  same.  If  we  went  fish- 
ing, some  one  would  break  my  pole  or  throw  my  bait 
into  the  water.  If  we  went  hunting,  all  the  boys  would 
try  to  run  off  from  me.  And  wherever  or  whatever  it 
was,  my  life  was  a  nightmare. 

Father  had  been  very  clear  in  his  teaching.  It  was 
wrong  to  resist.  If  an  enemy  hit  one  cheek,  the  other 
was  to  be  turned.  And  by  overcoming  evil  with  good, 
coals  of  fire  would  be  poured  on  the  sinner's  head.  All 
this  was  rather  mysterious  to  me.  In  the  first  place, 
Ed  Rainey  and  Floyd  Hankerton  and  Grouchie  McRand 
and  Bill  Hunter  and  the  rest  of  them  could  not  be 
called  my  enemies.  I  felt  some  way  that  they  were  really 
friends.  And  as  to  the  coals  of  fire,  I  agreed  most 
heartily  to  the  method,  and  admired  the  ingenuity  of 
the  one  who  had  thought  it  out,  but  it  seemed  so  remote 


146          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

from  realisatipn  that  it  did  not  serve  as  a  very  tangible 
hope. 

But  father  had  been  straightforward  about  it.  No 
doubt  could  be  entertained  as  to  the  meaning  he  had  had 
in  mind. 

"If  you  fight  away  from  home,  you  will  get  another 
whipping  when  you  come  back,"  was  exactly  what  he 
had  said. 

But  I  felt  somewhat  certain  that  it  was  because  I  did 
not  fight  that  the  boys  were  taking  such  liberties  with 
me.  "  Traid,"  "coward,"  "won't  fight,"  were  the  most 
frequent  words  I  heard  from  them.  But  it  was  real 
facts  that  finally  brought  me  to  a  decision. 

We  were  all  up  the  creek  one  Sunday  afternoon. 
We  had  been  going  along  the  banks  hitting  flat  stones 
with  others  that  we  picked  up,  to  see  how  many  chubs 
and  horny-heads  we  could  kill,  when  Grouchie  McRand 
shoved  me  into  the  water.  I  got  out  quickly,  and  started 
for  home.  But  while  the  others  jeered,  Grouchie  came 
after  me,  caught  up,  and  commenced  to  pound  me  furi- 
ously. He  hit  me  on  the  head,  in  the  stomach;  he 
scratched  my  hands  and  face,  and  kicked  me  on  the 
shins.  I  commenced  to  howl,  and  ran  with  all  my  might 
toward  home. 

I  pondered  long  that  night.  Why  did  they  always 
pick  on  me?  Why  didn't  Grouchie  and  Ed  fight?  Why 
was  I  the  only  one  they  jumped  on  and  bullied?  It 
was  a  poser,  but  at  last  I  thought  I  saw  the  light. 
Grouchie  did  not  fight  Ed  because  he  was  afraid  of 
getting  licked.  They  all  fought  me  because  they  knew 
I  wouldn't  fight.  And  I  drew  a  conclusion.  The  only 
thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  fight  back,  and  fight  hard. 
When  I  thought  of  what  father  had  said  I  was  halted, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  Father  was  nothing  compared 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          147 

to  the  boys.  I  would  rather  take  a  licking  from  him 
than  from  them. 

But  I  didn't  know  how  to  fight.  And  with  that  I  began 
a  course  of  education,  somewhat  deficient  because  of  the 
absence  of  paraphernalia,  it  is  true,  but  entirely  rugged 
and  effective  as  far  as  it  went.  I  got  a  bag  half  filled 
with  bran,  and  suspended  it  from  the  beams  of  the 
stable.  And  I  stood  by  the  hour  pounding  that  bag. 
My  arm  got  tired,  my  knuckles  raw,  but  I  pounded  on 
with  a  fierce  joy  and  a  growing  sense  of  triumph  at 
every  savage  punch.  Then  my  arm  got  so  it  didn't  get 
tired,  and  my  knuckles  got  hard  and  rough.  Following 
the  prevailing  fashion,  I  let  my  finger-nails  grow  long, 
and  practised  scratching  the  bag  with  them  until  it 
was  worn  thin.  At  last  one  fine  day  I  tfiought  my  train- 
ing finished,  and  bided  my  time. 

It  came.  We  had  all  gone  back  on  the  hill  to  the 
persimmon  tree,  and  found  that  they  were  not  quite  ripe 
yet.  We  bit  into  a  few,  but  the  task,  was  not  a  very 
pleasant  one;  and  we  were  just  turning  to  go  home  in 
disgust  when  I  saw  a  cunning  look  flit  over  Grouchie's 
face.  He  went  over  and  whispered  to  Ed  Rainey.  Ed 
grinned  and  nodded  his  head. 

"Come  here,  Ben,"  Grouchie  called. 

"What  you  want?" 

"Come  and  see,"  he  said. 

I  went.  When  I  got  up  to  him,  he  threw  his  hand 
around  back  of  my  neck  and  pulled  my  head  suddenly 
forward.  He  stabbed  a  green  persimmon  at  my  mouth. 
He  missed  and  he  stabbed  again. 

"Eat  it,"  he  snarled.     "Eat  it." 

I  side-stepped  neatly  and  sprang  away  from  him.  He 
came  for  me  headlong.  And  as  he  came  I  mentally 
pictured  the  bran  bag  in  place  of  his  head,  and  whaled 
away.  In  my  wildest  dreams  I  had  never  hoped  for 


148          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

anything  quite  so  complete  and  satisfying.  I  landed 
squarely  between  his  eyes,  and  he  reeled  back  both  in 
absolute  surprise  and  with  a  howl  of  pain. 

Then  I  lost  my  head  altogether.  Up  to  this  time  I 
had  been  perfectly  calm,  acting  with  the  precision  I 
used  on  my  bran  bag.  But  with  Grouchie's  cry  went 
my  composure.  I  trembled  in  every  limb  and  began  to 
whimper  in  a  silly  maudlin  way.  But  it  was  not  with 
fright.  It  was  with  a  kind  of  miniature  berserk  rage. 
Whimpering  and  shaking,  I  sprang  at  my  dumbfounded 
victim  and  began  to  claw  him,  pummel  him  on  the 
head,  and  kick  him  wherever  he  was  exposed.  It  was  all 
too  much  like  a  whirlwind  to  give  him  time  to  recover. 
He  tried  a  bluff. 

"Aw,  Ben,  I  didn't  mean  nothin'.  Quit  your  hittin* 
me." 

"Say  'nough,"  I  yelled  shrilly.  "Say  'nough,  an'  I'll 
quit." 

He  made  some  feeble  show  of  resistance,  but  I  was 
completely  beside  myself.  I  hurled  myself  on  him  like 
a  fury,  bore  him  to  the  ground,  and  kept  up  a  rain  of 
blows. 

"Say  'nough,"  I  demanded. 

"  'Nough,"  he  said  weakly. 

I  got  up.  Bill  Hunter  whirled  me  around  facing  him. 
His  face  was  flushed  and  his  black  eyes  snapped. 

"Great  stuff,  Ben.  Shake."  He  stuck  out  a  dirty 
hand  and  I  shook  it.  That  was  a  signal  for  every  one 
to  begin  talking  at  once. 

"Fine,"  "never  saw  anything  to  beat  it,"  "knew  he 
had  it  in  him  if  he  would  only  let  out,"  and  other  like 
ejaculations  fell  on  my  disturbed  soul  like  sweetest  mel- 
ody. I  puffed  out. 

"If  he  wants  any  more  he  knows  where  to  get  it,"  I 
pronounced  savagely,  shaking  my  fist  at  him. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Hocks          149 

But  he  wanted  no  more.  Bill  Hunter  laid  his  arm 
over  my  shoulder  in  a  friendly  fashion,  and  we  started 
toward  home. 

"Guess  it's  time  to  go  home,  boys,"  he  said. 

Together  we  walked  away.  The  others  followed,  and 
there  was  in  their  voices  as  they  addressed  me  a  new 
note.  It  was  of  respect.  From  that  time  on  I  took 
Hen's  old  place.  It  was  a  place  of  full  fellowship. 


Chapter  12 

THE  biggest  event  of  the  year  at  Barren  Rocks  was 
the  annual  protracted  meeting.  It  usually  started 
a  little  after  Christmas,  and  lasted  anywhere  from  two 
to  seven  weeks,  or  as  long  as  the  seekers  continued  to 
come  to  the  altar. 

The  crowds  were  enormous.  Every  family  living  near 
the  church  would  arrange  to  keep  company,  and  they 
were  not  disappointed.  For  from  all  over  the  country 
the  people  would  pour  in.  From  up  the  river  we  al- 
ways had  a  regular  crowd ;  from  down  the  river  they 
were  less  reliable,  but  some  one  always  was  on  hand. 
No  one  around  Barren  Rocks  thought  of  missing  a  serv- 
ice ;  and  from  far  back  among  the  hills  the  men  in  their 
tall  caps  and  limber  boots,  and  the  women  with  their 
cheerful  red  faces  would  come  in  such  numbers  that 
the  church  would  be  crowded  for  standing  room. 

It  was  in  the  big  meeting  that  I  liked  to  hear  father 
preach  best.  He  never  failed  to  warm  up,  and  running 
from  side  to  side  of  the  pulpit,  he  would  denounce  the 
strongholds  of  Satan,  and  implore  the  sinners  to  seek 
salvation  while  it  was  yet  day.  But  it  was  when  he  got 
over  in  Revelation,  or  took  his  text  from  Daniel  that 
he  was  at  his  best.  It  is  in  Daniel  and  Revelation  that 
the  future  is  foretold,  and  pale  horses  ride  out  of 
heaven,  and  great  beasts  rise  up  out  of  the  ground,  and 
plagues  are  scattered  about,  and  there  are  wars,  and 
trumpets  blown,  and  finally  the  Judgment  Day.  And 

150 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          151 

when  father  preached  from  one  or  the  other  of  these 
books,  I  always  settled  down  to  a  period  when  I  would 
be  alternately  frozen  with  the  very  horror  of  the  thing, 
or  lifted  clean  out  of  myself  by  an  imaginary  song  of 
Moses  and  the  Lamb.  And  how  father  would  run !  And 
how  he  would  hit  the  pulpit,  and  finally  how  the  sinners 
would  rush  forward  to  shake  his  hands  and  kneel  at  the 
altar  to  be  saved.  And  then  some  good  Brother  would 
start  to  pray  and  another  to  shout  and  confusion  worse 
confounded  would  prevail.  It  surely  was  the  big  time  of 
the  year! 

When  father  announced  one  Sunday,  that,  Providence 
permitting,  the  protracted  meeting  would  start  at  early 
lamplighting  the  next  Sunday  night,  there  was  a  general 
stir. 

"Now,  brethren,  we  want  to  do  all  we  can  to  make  this 
a  great  outpouring  of  grace.  I  want  to  ask  now,  that 
if  there  are  those  in  the  congregation  who  would  like 
to  be  remembered  in  the  prayers  of  the  saints ;  or  if 
there  are  any  of  the  household  of  faith  who  wish  their 
dear  ones  remembered,  they  make  their  requests  pub- 
licly known  now." 

He  sat  down.  There  was  a  great  quiet  in  the  room. 
One  man  looked  at  another,  and  the  other  looked  away 
quickly,  trying  not  to  appear  self-conscious.  I  saw 
Rude  Hamilton  from  where  I  sat.  Her  jaw  was  set,  and 
I  could  see  her  eyes  snapping.  She  stood  up. 

"The  Lord  bless  Sister  Hamilton,"  father  said  sol- 
emnly. Many  others  murmured  low  "Amens." 

"I  just  want  to  say,  Brothers  and  Sisters,  that  we 
can't  expect  a  revival  in  this  church  unless  there  is 
prayers  among  the  elect.  'Where  two  or  three  are  gath- 
ered together  in  my  name  there  will  I  be  in  the  midst 
of  them.'  Now  unless  we  gather  ourselves  together  we 
can't  expect  no  divine  outpouring.  I  think  one  need  is 


152          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

more  converted  church  members."  She  sat  down  vig- 
orously, and  looked  about  her.  Nobody  moved. 

"Are  there  others?"  father's  voice  broke  in  encourag- 
ingly. 

Then  Henry  Tolliver  stood  up.  He  was  clearly  ner- 
vous, and  he  looked  about  him  timidly  before  he  began. 
Every  one  loved  him.  He  was  white  haired,  and  his 
voice  was  soft  and  kind.  He  was  one  of  father's  great 
friends. 

There  was  a  solemn  hush,  and  all  eyes  turned  toward 
him.  He  cleared  his  throat  nervously  and  began,  his 
soft  kind  voice  filling  the  room  like  music. 

"It  is  twenty-eight  years  that  I  have  been  living  in 
this  way,  and  in  this  time  I  have  not  seen  the  righteous 
forsaken  or  his  seed  begging  bread.  It  is  a  glorious 
way.  But  Brothers  and  Sisters,  I  have  one  great  sor- 
row, and  when  I  heard  Brother  Rhodes  announce  the 
meetin'  for  next  Sunday  I  thought  maybe  the  Lord's 
time  had  come  at  last."  He  stopped  and  looked  about 
uncertainly,  as  if  fearful  to  begin  again.  "Brothers  and 
Sisters,  I  have  a  wayward  son.  I  am  not  saying  who 
is  to  blame.  We  are  all  sinners,  and  maybe  I  have  left 
something  undone  that  I  might  have  done,  but,  O  Broth- 
ers, I  want  you  to  pray  for  my  son.  Pray  for  him  that 
he  may  be  found  before  it  is  too  late." 

He  sat  down,  and  people  all  over  the  church  began 
to  wipe  their  eyes.  Mother  was  looking  out  of  the 
window  and  the  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  from  somewhere  back 
in  the  church  a  weak  quavering  voice  was  raised  in  a 
hymn.  Soon  the  others  joined  and  it  was  sung  to  the 
end. 

"Let  thy  goodness  like  a  fetter  bind  my  wandering 
heart  to  thee,"  and  the  hymn  closed  with  a  lonely  quaver- 
ing sob.  And  the  revival  was  on. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          153 

"There  are  others  who  ought  to  say  the  same  thing," 
was  Rude  Hamilton's  comment  as  we  went  home. 

The  following  Sunday  night  the  church  was  full,  and 
the  air  was  hot  and  close.  The  snow  had  melted  off 
the  boots,  and  gave  a  moist  odour  to  it.  The  saved  were 
occupying  seats  directly  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  and  back 
near  the  door  a  noisy  crowd  of  sinners  jostled  each 
other  and  talked  good-naturedly.  It  was  the  usual  be- 
ginning, the  curious  were  out  for  a  thrill;  the  church 
workers  were  in  deadly  earnest  to  win  some  sinner  from 
his  peril;  and  the  sinners  for  the  most  part  took  it  all 
in  good-natured  tolerance,  as  if  perfectly  willing  to  be 
the  objects  of  general  solicitation,  since  all  were  bound 
to  have  it  so. 

v. 

It  was  a  good  week  before  things  got  warmed  up 
properly.  There  had  been  considerable  coldness  and  in- 
difference among  the  members  of  the  church,  and  father 
was  untiring  in  his  insistence  that  there  could  be  no 
revival  as  long  as  such  a  condition  prevailed.  There 
were  exhortations,  prayers,  and  finally  the  speaking  meet- 
ing. It  was  in  the  speaking  meeting  that  things  were 
usually  straightened  out.  When  they  would  get  up  to 
give  their  experiences,  and  tell  how  they  had  enjoyed 
the  Way,  it  usually  happened  that  one  after  another 
would  be  stricken  by  remorse,  confess  to  some  secret 
sin,  or  ask  a  Brother  for  forgiveness,  and  the  meetings 
would  begin  to  thaw  out  until  real  revival  fervour 
prevailed. 

It  started  on  Tuesday  night  of  the  second  week. 
Sister  Gordon  got  up.  She  was  tall  and  thin,  and  her 
nose  had  a  fashion  of  twitching  up  and  down  when  she 
was  excited.  On  this  occasion  it  twitched  more  than 
usual,  and  her  beady  black  eyes  blinked  strangely. 

"Brothers  and  Sisters,  I  don't  want  to  be  the  cause 
of  holdin'  up  the  work  of  grace  in  this  meetin'.  And 


154          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

as  I  have  set  here  day  after  day  and  seen  how  cold  and 
dead  it  is,  I  have  often  felt  I  had  ought  to  git  up  and 
make  things  right  about  myself.  One  of  us  can't  talk 
about  another,  for  we  are  all  about  as  bad  off  as  any 
one.  But  I  just  know  that  I  ain't  been  a  doin'  right  the 
past  year.  There  has  been  whole  months  that  I  ain't 
spoke  to  Ellie  Hanson  nor  her  family,  and  I  know  it  ain't 
right.  And  I  just  want  you  to  pray  that  the  Lord  will 
forgive  me."  She  said  the  last  words  as  she  was  sitting 
down,  and  she  felt  about  confusedly  for  her  handker- 
chief. 

When  she  had  got  up  Ellie  Hanson's  face  was  hard  and 
her  eyes  were  hard  also,  but  as  Sister  Gordon  finished, 
her  face  softened,  and  she  stood  up  quickly. 

"I  don't  want  Sister  Gordon  to  take  all  the  blame.  I 
done  just  as  much  as  she  did,  and  it  is  all  my  fault.  I 
been  a  feelin'  bad  about  it  myself  all  this  time.  Why 
should  me  and  Lucy  not  speak?  Here  we  are  neigh- 
bours, and  had  ought  to  be  the  best  of  friends."  She 
said  this  while  going  rapidly  over  toward  Sister  Gordon. 
And  arriving  there,  the  two  women  threw  their  arms 
about  each  other  and  sobbed. 

The  effect  was  electrical.  From  the  pulpit  father 
started,  "Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds,"  in  his  wavering 
uncertain  way,  and  looked  imploringly  at  mother  to  help 
him  through.  That  was  like  father.  He  couldn't  be 
depended  upon  to  carry  a  tune,  but  when  he  got  stirred 
up  in  a  meeting  he  simply  could  not  help  starting  some 
song.  But  mother  usually  helped  him  out.  She  did  on 
this  occasion,  and  the  hymn  was  finished  nicely,  although 
father  did  get  entirely  off  the  tune  about  midway,  and 
soared  up  and  down  in  the  most  random  manner. 

That  was  the  real  beginning  of  the  big  meeting,  the 
biggest  we  ever  had  at  Barren  Rocks.  Nearly  every  one 
confessed  to  something  or  other;  and  by  the  time  the 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          155 

confessing  was  finished,  everybody  felt  the  joy  that  comes 
from  confessing  a  fault  and  getting  it  out  of  the  system, 
as  father  said,  and  also  was  cheered  by  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  noble  enough  to  forgive  a  Brother  that  had 
sinned  against  him.  Old  enemies  that  had  not  spoken 
in  years  clasped  hands  up  near  the  mourner's  bench, 
and  amidst  shouts  of  hallelujah  and  fervent  amens  the 
work  of  grace  swept  on. 

I  wouldn't  have  missed  a  service  for  anything  in  the 
world.  To  me  there  was  something  terribly  gripping 
in  it  all.  I  didn't  care  so  much  for  what  the  younger 
people  said  and  did.  Father  called  them  the  younger 
brethren,  and  urged  upon  them  the  need  of  personal 
work,  but  their  doings  did  not  make  much  of  an  appeal 
to  me.  Young  Zed  Newton  would  walk  boldly  back 
among  the  unsaved,  put  his  hands  on  their  shoulders, 
and  smilingly  talk  to  them  about  their  duty  to  live  a  better 
life.  And  Jane  Ellanger  would  sometimes  shut  her  mouth 
tightly  and  walk  back  nervously,  as  though  she  were 
walking  blindfolded  across  a  board  into  she  knew  not 
what.  She  always  looked  as  if  she  doubted  whether  she 
would  ever  come  back,  but  was  determined  to  do  her 
duty  whether  she  did  or  not. 

These  younger  people  did  not  make  much  of  an  im- 
pression upon  me.  I  often  thought  young  Zed  was  put- 
ting on  a  lot ;  and  Rude  Hamilton  said  Jane  was  work- 
ing simply  to  impress  Hen.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention 
to  that,  but  for  other  reasons  I  remained  unimpressed. 

It  was  when  the  old  ones  got  worked  up  that  I  was 
pleased.  The  older  the  better ;  and  if  they  had  white  hair 
and  beard  they  were  all  the  more  impressive.  I  thought 
old  Uncle  Henry  Tapps  best  of  all.  He  was  not  my 
Uncle.  He  was  not  any  relation  at  all.  But  father 
called  him  old  Uncle  Henry,  and  I  thought  the  name 
suited  him  very  well.  He  was  very,  very  old.  His  hair 


156          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

was  white  as  snow,  and  grew  away  down  around  his 
shoulders.  He  had  a  long  white  beard  also,  and  his 
voice,  while  somewhat  shrill,  was  nevertheless  very  pene- 
trating. I  did  think  it  would  have  been  much  better  if 
he  could  have  roared  a  little  in  a  great  deep  voice. 
But  as  it  was,  he  did  it  very  well. 

When  he  got  up  to  give  in  his  testimony,  he  would  jerk 
out  his  words  and  his  beard  would  bob  up  and  down  as 
he  opened  and  shut  his  mouth.  He  would  shake  his 
head,  and  his  long  hair  would  rise  and  fall  about  his 
shoulders.  And  every  little  bit  he  would  wave  his  arms 
and  hold  them  out  imploringly  while  beseeching  sinners 
to  repent  and  turn  from  the  error  of  their  ways.  At 
such  times  he  was  truly  magnificent. 

But  when  he  prayed  he  was  at  his  best.  He  would 
kneel  down,  but  he  did  not  bend  over  forward  like  most 
of  the  men  did.  He  would  kind  of  sit  back  on  his 
heels,  throw  back  his  head,  and  as  he  prayed,  wave 
back  and  to.  When  he  said  Father,  he  pronounced  it 
in  a  funny  way,  like  we  pronounced  the  first  part  of 
waver,  and  as  he  got  warmed  up  to  it  he  would  draw 
one  foot  up  from  under  him  and  place  it  in  a  different 
position.  How  he  did  it  I  never  could  tell,  although  I 
got  up  near  him  many  times  to  watch,  and  at  home  I 
would  practise  it  faithfully  but  never  succeeded  in  doing 
it.  But  in  some  way  he  would  bring  his  heel  up  and 
down  on  the  floor  until  it  sounded  just  like  a  woodpecker 
driving  a  rapid  fire  against  a  dead  limb.  It  was  at 
these  times  that  I  wished  the  meetings  would  last  for 
ever.  For  with  his  heel  beating  a  rapid  tatoo  upon  the 
floor,  his  hair  and  beard  waving  and  his  arms  pawing 
wildly  through  the  air,  he  presented  the  most  engrossing 
spectacle  I  had  ever  seen. 

Sometimes  during  a  lull  in  the  meeting,  father  would 
call  on  him  to  pray.  If  I  happened  to  be  on  the  other 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          157 

side  of  the  church  from  him  at  the  time  I  would  hurry 
over  and  get  as  near  as  I  could.  Sitting  there,  I  would 
watch  in  a  kind  of  awed  wonder,  and  when  he  was 
through  I  would  experience  a  pang  of  genuine  regret. 

One  crowded  night  the  church  was  full,  but  there  was 
a  difference.  Abel  Tolliver  was  there.  He  was  Brother 
Tolliver's  wayward  son.  He  had  not  been  to  church 
before  during  the  meeting.  He  did  not  usually  attend 
church,  and  this  was  one  reason  he  was  such  a  great  sin- 
ner. There  had  been  many  prayers  since  the  meeting 
started  that  the  Lord  would  bring  him  out  to  the  serv- 
ices. And  when  the  workers  saw  him  there  on  this 
night  there  were  many  significant  nods  exchanged  be- 
tween them.  It  was  looked  upon  as  an  answer  to  prayer, 
and  I  heard  one  man  whisper  to  another  that  already 
Abel  looked  like  he  was  under  strong  conviction. 

During  the  sermon  father  made  reference  to  those 
who  were  bringing  the  grey  hairs  of  their  fathers  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave,  and  called  upon  all  such  to  repent 
while  it  was  yet  day.  And  when  he  gave  the  invitation, 
there  were  twenty-four  who  crowded  forward  and  knelt 
at  the  mourner's  bench.  But  Abel  was  not  with  them. 
Personal  worker  after  personal  worker  went  back  and 
talked  with  him.  He  listened  to  all  with  a  smile,  and 
to  one  and  all  shook  his  head  negatively.  There  was 
no  moving  him. 

Many  thought  that  if  he  did  not  come  forward  to- 
night he  would  never  come.  It  was  even  rumoured  that 
he  had  already  sinned  away  his  day  of  grace.  And  it 
was  not  long  until  it  could  be  acutely  felt  that  the  whole 
effort  of  the  service  centred  around  him.  And  then, 
after  several  of  the  seekers  had  sprung  up  from  the 
altar  with  shouts  of  joy,  there  was  a  sudden  lull.  It 
was  as  if  all  minds  were  focused  on  Abel  Tolliver. 

Father  called  upon  Uncle  Henry  Tapps  to  lead  in 


158          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

prayer.  It  was  quite  the  most  exciting  moment  in  my 
life.  I  could  feel  a  tingling  at  the  roots  of  my  hair. 
My  mouth  got  dry,  and  I  swallowed  desperately.  Then 
edging  my  way  over  as  near  Uncle  Henry  as  I  could, 
I  knelt  down  in  strained  expectancy.  As  usual  he  began 
by  leaning  back  on  his  heels.  Then  he  implored  the 
Fayther  for  mercy  upon  all  sinners.  And  after  waving 
his  arms  about  in  the  wildest  manner,  he  drew  up  his 
knee  and  began  to  beat  on  the  hollow  floor  with  his  heel. 
There  were  cries  of  "Amen,"  "Lord  Grant,"  "Yea, 
Lord,"  and  "That's  right,  that's  right,"  from  all  over 
the  house. 

And  then  something  that  had  never  occurred  before 
happened.  Old  Uncle  Henry,  still  sitting  on  his  heels, 
began  to  hop  back  through  the  aisle  of  the  church.  Back 
he  went,  nearer  and  nearer  to  Abel  Tolliver,  until  he  got 
to  the  seat  in  the  end  of  which  Abel  sat,  looking  interest- 
edly through  his  fingers  at  what  was  going  on.  Here 
he  stopped,  and  facing  the  pulpit,  continued  to  pray. 
With  his  left  hand  he  still  pawed  the  air,  but  with  his 
right  he  gripped  Abel.  And  then  he  prayed  for  Abel's 
salvation. 

It  was  too  much.  At  first  he  tried  to  smile  it  off.  Then 
he  attempted  to  withdraw  himself  from  old  Uncle  Hen- 
ry's grip.  Failing  in  this,  he  looked  frightened,  and  then 
tremendously  moved.  He  gulped ;  he  bent  his  head  down 
behind  the  seat  in  front  of  him;  at  last  he  straightened 
up,  squared  his  shoulders,  arose,  and  walked  resolutely 
down  the  aisle  toward  the  mourner's  bench.  He  got 
there  and  fell  down  on  his  face  praying  for  mercy. 

After  supper  that  evening,  before  we  had  started  to 
church,  mother  remarked  that  she  felt  very  tired.  After 
a  little  when  she  got  up  to  go  and  change  her  dress  for 
the  service,  father  said  it  was  no  use  to  take  the  trouble 
to  put  on  a  different  dress. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          159 

"You  look  all  right  just  as  you  are,  honey,"  he  said. 

"O,  I  don't  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  go  looking  like 
this,"  and  she  surveyed  herself  with  many  misgivings. 

"Sure,  now,  that  is  just  all  right,"  father  continued, 
convinced. 

"It  would  save  a  lot  of  trouble,"  mother  conceded,  and 
looked  around  inquiringly. 

"That's  what  it  would.  You  sit  down  and  rest  till 
time  to  start." 

With  one  last  troubled  look  she  sat  down. 

"I'll  sit  down  near  the  stove  and  not  move,  and  no 
one  will  notice  me,"  she  decided  hopefully,  and  settled 
back  in  her  chair. 

True  to  her  resolution,  she  sat  down  back  of  the  stove, 
where  it  was  hard  for  her  to  be  seen.  I  sat  with  her 
for  some  time,  but  when  things  began  to  loosen  up  I 
simply  had  to  get  out  and  keep  my  eyes  open  so  as  not 
to  miss  anything.  But  mother  had  remained  in  the 
shadow. 

I  saw  her  next  when  Abel  Tolliver  fell  down  at  the 
mourner's  bench.  She  raised  up  from  her  seat,  looked 
over  toward  him  as  though  she  could  not  believe  her 
eyes,  and  gave  one  tremendous  shout. 
.  "It  is  an  answer  to  prayer,"  she  shouted,  and  eyes 
aglow  and  face  flushed,  she  moved  about  shaking  hands 
with  all  she  met  until  she  was  completely  exhausted. 
When  she  finally  sat  down  it  was  not  in  the  obscure  seat 
by  the  stove,  but  up  in  the  pulpit  with  father.  And 
she  sat  there  where  all  could  see,  and  never  once  thought 
of  her  dress,  as  she  afterwards  remarked  in  the  greatest 
chagrin. 

Abel  Tolliver  was  saved,  and  nothing  would  do  Uncle 
Henry  but  we  should  all  go  home  with  him  and  stay 
until  the  following  day. 

It  was  during  the  great  ingathering  that  followed  that 


160          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

father  preached  his  never-to-be-forgotten  sermon  on  the 
Last  Day.  "But  go  thou  thy  way  till  the  end  be;  for 
thou  shalt  rest,  and  stand  in  thy  lot  at  the  end  of  the 
days."  That  was  the  text;  and  with  both  Burnsides 
drawing  noisily  and  the  room  filled  with  the  moist  odour 
of  snow  from  the  wet  floor,  he  preached  it  to  a  record 
congregation.  From  end  to  end  of  the  pulpit  he  ran;  he 
knocked  the  desk  with  his  clenched  fists.  He  pictured 
the  evils  of  the  present  world,  gave  a  horrible  picture  of 
sinners  cowering  before  the  great  white  throne,  and 
closed  with  a  terrible  picture  of  them  staggering  away, 
muttering,  "Lost,  lost,  lost  through  all  eternity." 

When  he  finished  he  gave  the  invitation,  "perhaps  the 
last  that  will  ever  come  to  some  of  us,"  and  there  was 
a  veritable  stampede  to  the  altar. 

That  night  Naomi  Alleau  and  Esther  Olliver  were 
saved.  They  were  both  great  dancers,  and  constant  agi- 
tation for  a  dance  hall,  and  their  going  about  over  the 
country  to  dances  wherever  they  were  held,  had  given 
them  a  very  black  reputation.  The  church  was  bit- 
terly opposed  to  dancing,  and  because  of  this  they  had 
seemed  to  flout  their  iniquity  in  the  very  face  of  the 
sanctuary. 

But  they  came  to  the  altar  together,  and  were  soon 
up  and  shouting  all  over  the  church.  They  undulated 
nimbly  over  the  floor,  dodged  in  and  out  among  the 
crowd  like  nymphs,  and  were  to  be  heard  first  in  one 
place,  then  in  another,  shouting  and  praising  God. 

Rude  Hamilton  edged  up  to  mother. 

"You  could  tell  they  danced.  I  do  believe  they  are 
just  putting  on  airs,  that's  what  I  think,"  and  she  snapped 
her  mouth  shut  viciously. 

"O  Sister,  you  should  never  say  things  like  that,"  moth- 
er said,  horrified. 

"I  know  it  sounds  like  I  doubt  divine  grace,  but  you 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          161 

just  wait  and  see,"  and  she  walked  quickly  away,  mut- 
tering. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  that  that  I  began  to  get 
terribly  worked  up.  Father  had  preached  on  sinning 
away  the  day  of  grace,  and  had  told  of  men  who  had 
passed  beyond  a  fatal  dead-line,  where  the  spirit  no  more 
should  strive  with  them.  I  thought  it  was  horrible.  And 
there  began  to  weigh  upon  me  the  secret  and  terrible  con- 
viction that  I  was  lost;  that  I  had  sinned  away  my  day 
of  grace;  and  that  hell  had  enlarged  herself  to  swallow 
me  up. 

The  more  I  thought  the  more  positive  I  became  that 
such  was  the  awful  fact.  I  prayed  feverishly,  but  seemed 
unmoved,  and  father  had  said  that  this  stolidity  in  the 
face  of  spiritual  truths  was  one  of  the  surest  signs.  A 
great  gloom  encompassed  me.  I  wished  desperately  that 
I  had  never  been  born,  for  then  I  could  not  have  been 
lost.  But  hopeless  as  I  knew  the  case  to  be,  I  resolved 
to  present  myself  at  the  mourner's  bench  at  the  next 
opportunity  so  as  to  leave  nothing  undone  that  I  should 
do.  There  always  seemed  to  be  that  terrible  chance  of 
having  left  undone  something,  or  of  having  chanced  to  do 
something  else. 

Consequently  when,  the  next  night,  father  gave  the  in- 
vitation, I  was  on  hand.  It  had  cost  a  mighty  effort,  for 
I  shrank  from  the  altar  as  from  a  plague,  but  I  nerved 
myself  for  the  ordeal.  Trembling  in  every  limb,  I  set 
my  teeth  and  went  up  and  knelt  down. 

Contrary  to  what  I  had  expected,  no  one  seemed  to 
take  any  notice  of  me.  And  my  first  emotion  was  one 
of  resentment  that  these  people  who  seemed  to  be  so 
eager  for  the  lost  to  come  forward  should  neglect  to 
pay  adequate  attention  to  me.  I  knelt  there  feeling  that 
they  were  putting  on  much  of  their  eagerness,  and  were 


162          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

not  at  all  what  they  wanted  to  appear,  when  I  felt  a 
tug  at  my  elbow. 

"What  are  you  doing,  son?" 

It  was  father's  voice,  and  it  did  not  have  in  it  the 
melting  desire  for  helpfulness  that  I  felt  my  soul  de- 
manded. It  was  matter-of-fact. 

"I  am  lost,"  I  said  resentfully. 

"You  are  what?" 

"Lost.    I  have  sinned  away  my  day  of  grace." 

"O  no,  you  have  not.  Come  up  here  in  the  pulpit 
with  me." 

I  felt  that  my  case  had  been  dismissed  far  too  lightly, 
but  I  had  always  liked  to  sit  with  father  in  the  pulpit. 
It  was  a  point  of  great  advantage,  for  from  it  everything 
that  happened  in  the  church  could  be  easily  observed. 
So  feeling  that  I  was  lost  anyhow,  and  that  to  tarry  at 
the  altar  would  be  worse  than  useless,  I  skipped  up  into 
the  pulpit  and  began  to  look  around. 


Chapter  13 

SEVENTY-FOUR  was  the  total  of  the  great  ingather- 
ing that  following  the  protracted  meeting.  The  num- 
ber represented  all  ages,  from  little  Tim  Rainey  up  to  old 
Harrison  Applebee.  And  the  same  two  might  be  used 
as  samples  of  the  wealth  of  the  new  converts,  for  while 
Tim's  folks  were  poor  as  church  mice,  old  Harrison  Ap- 
plebee was  rich. 

After  they  had  all  presented  themselves  for  member- 
ship in  the  church  one  Sunday  morning,  the  important 
question  of  Baptism  came  up.  Of  course  there  was  no 
discussion  as  to  the  method  to  be  employed.  There  was 
but  one  method  where  father  was  concerned,  and  that 
was  by  immersion.  He  called  any  other  form  of  baptism 
a  sacrilege.  So  all  that  was  to  be  settled  was  the  time 
and  place. 

It  was  agreed  to  have  the  ceremony  take  place  in  a 
big  hole  down  in  Little  Creek,  where  the  creek  made  a 
sharp  turn  around  a  giant  boulder,  and  the  water  was 
deep.  There  was  also  a  good  sloping  bank  on  one 
side,  and  father  always  looked  out  for  things  like  that. 

As  to  the  time,  there  was  a  bitter  disagreement.  Father 
said  it  made  no  difference  whatever  to  him,  and  he  would 
leave  it  entirely  with  the  candidates.  Rude  Hamilton, 
although  she  was  not  to  be  baptised,  since  she  was  a 
member  of  long  standing  and  had  been  baptised  long 
ago,  nevertheless  was  assuming  a  rather  important  part 

163 


164          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

in  the  arrangements.  She  said  that  the  sacrament  ought 
to  be  carried  through  at  once. 

"If  we  have  been  converted,  the  quicker  we  are  bap- 
tised, which  is  simply  an  outward  and  physical  symbol 
of  an  inward  and  spiritual  act,  the  better  it  looks  for 
our  faith,"  was  the  way  she  put  it. 

I  could  see  that  there  was  at  least  a  considerable 
opinion  in  many  quarters  that  she  was  too  severe. 

"I  have  been  converted,  all  right,"  old  Harrison  Ap- 
plebee  said,  in  his  rugged  forehanded  way,  "but  that 
crick  is  cold  at  this  time  of  year,  and  don't  you  forgit 
it." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  sniffed. 

"Cold  or  no  cold,  if  you  have  faith  it  won't  hurt 
you." 

"That  may  be,  but  again  it  may  not  be.  I  don't  allow 
faith  would  help  my  rheumatism  much  if  I  got  in  that 
crick  and  contraried  'er  some." 

The  situation  was  getting  ticklish.  Brother  Applebee 
had  been  converted,  all  right.  He  had  declared  as  much 
with  stubborn  conviction.  But  he  had  bossed  people 
around  for  so  long  that  it  was  hard  for  him  to  get  the 
Christian  attitude  of  humility.  He  didn't  just  take  to 
the  idea  of  letting  Rude  Hamilton  boss  him  around. 

On  the  other  hand,  Rude  thought  that  the  fact  that 
she  had  been  for  long  of  the  household  of  faith  ought 
to  count  for  something.  It  gave  her  opinions  a  weight, 
a  prestige,  over  the  opinions  of  one  who  had  been  for 
many  years  an  unbeliever. 

But  father  saved  the  situation.  He  was  good  at  saving 
situations.  Mother  often  called  him  Buckwheat,  for  she 
said  he  was  like  a  buckwheat  seed :  He  could  fit  into  any 
corner.  He  fit  this  corner  exactly.  He  made  his  way 
over  toward  Brother  Applebee,  and  held  up  his  hand  for 
attention. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          165 

"Perhaps,  brethren,  we  had  better  put  it  to  a  vote," 
he  began  mildly.  "We  can  either  have  the  baptism  next 
Sunday,  or  put  it  off  until  the  weather  breaks  up  in  the 
spring.  All  who  favour  putting  it  off,  please  lift  the 
right  hand." 

Nearly  every  hand  went  up. 

"It  is  so  ordered.    I  will  announce  the  date  later." 

Brother  Applebee  looked  over  at  Rude  Hamilton  with 
a  triumphant  smile;  while  she  backed  away  with  the  air 
of  one  having  done  all  she  could  to  prevent  a  disgrace, 
but  now  that  it  had  come  in  spite  of  her,  people  would 
have  to  take  the  consequences.  She  had  delivered  her 
soul.  She  went  up  to  mother. 

"If  I  said  what  I  thought,  Sister  Rhodes,  it  would 
be  that  a  lot  of  them  as  has  joined  the  church  don't  have 
the  faith  of  a  grain  of  mustard  seed." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  mother  asked. 

"They  will  be  backslid." 

"O,  I  don't  know." 

"You  jest  wait  and  see." 

Esther  Olliver  and  Naomi  Alleau  were  great  dancers. 
They  never  missed  a  dance,  if  they  could  possibly  get 
to  it.  Their  one  lament  was  that  there  was  no  pavilion 
at  Barren  Rocks.  Other  towns,  they  declared,  had  pa- 
vilions, and  Barren  Rocks  had  none.  And  such  a  pavilion 
was  an  essential  to  any  up-to-date  town. 

Their  duty,  therefore,  was  clear.  They  must  collect 
funds  for  the  erection  of  a  suitable  dancing  pavilion. 
They  undertook  the  task  the  fall  before  the  protracted 
meeting.  And  they  were  very  successful.  When  they 
first  began  their  task,  father  smiled  and  said  they  could 
never  get  the  money.  He  said  he  knew  what  they  had 
undertaken  better  than  they  did.  But  he  evidently  had 
overlooked  something,  for  it  was  not  long  until  they 
announced  that  they  had  enough  to  put  up  the  pavilion. 


166          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

The  church  was  greatly  exercised  over  this  announce- 
ment. Father  did  not  say  much,  but  he  virtually  agreed 
with  Rude  Hamilton  when  she  said  that  Satan  was  in 
the  project. 

The  pavilion  was  to  have  been  erected  at  once,  but 
winter  set  in,  and  the  work  was  put  off  until  spring. 
And  then — Esther  and  Naomi  were  converted  at  the  big 
meeting.  Father  was  jubilant;  mother  was  silent;  and 
Rude  Hamilton  pessimistic.  Of  course  no  one  could  be- 
long to  the  church  and  have  anything  to  do  with  danc- 
ing. But  the  question  was:  Would  Esther  and  Naomi 
cling  to  the  church  and  give  up  dancing;  or  would  they 
return  to  their  old  habits  and  forsake  the  church? 
Would  they  remain  faithful,  or  backslide? 

They  themselves  were  very  positive  in  their  statements. 
They  were  resolved  to  forsake  their  sins  and  to  cleave 
unto  righteousness.  The  old  garment  of  the  flesh,  they 
had  put  aside;  and  had  put  on  the  new  robe  of  salva- 
tion. They  even  backed  Rude  Hamilton  up  in  her  effort 
to  have  the  baptismal  service  in  dead  winter,  for  so  great 
was  their  faith,  and  so  eager  were  they  to  cut  free  from 
the  old  life,  that  they  did  not  want  to  wait  for  the  crown- 
ing sacrament  until  spring. 

No  one  shouted  during  the  big  meeting  like  they  did. 
They  got  the  thing  down  to  a  fine  art,  and  it  was 
really  a  treat  to  see  them  thread  their  way  through  the 
crowds,  shouting  hosannas.  And  no  convert  made  more 
inclusive  professions  than  they  made.  For  them  the 
work  of  grace  had  been  complete;  they  were  saved  to 
the  uttermost. 

Consequently,  when  some  one  sounded  them  on  their 
future  attitude  toward  the  pavilion,  they  were  vehement. 
No  dancing  pavilion  should  be  built  in  Barren  Rocks. 
Nay,  they  would  strike  a  match  to  the  lumber  that  had 
been  hauled  to  the  site  before  they  would  suffer  it  to  be 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          167 

used  for  such  a  purpose.  For  had  they  not  forsaken 
the  world  and  the  flesh  and  the  devil? 

But  despite  these  sweeping  avowals,  there  were  those 
who  doubted  the  outcome.  Rude  Hamilton  was  openly 
derisive.  She  hooted  at  the  bare  mention  of  it,  stoutly 
claiming  that  it  were  an  utter  impossibility  for  the  leopard 
to  change  his  spots.  And  many  others  were  sceptical. 

Would  it  be  the  church,  or  the  dance  ?  That  was  the 
question. 

When  they  had  declared  that  the  pavilion  should  not 
be  built,  they  had  reckoned  without  the  consent  of  sev- 
eral who  had  been  connected  with  the  enterprise,  and  who 
had  not  been  converted.  Ash  Hayes,  for  example,  was 
a  partner  in  the  enterprise,  and  he  declared  that  the 
pavilion  would  go  up  as  soon  as  the  weather  broke  in 
the  spring.  Others  who  had  been  interested  said  the 
same  thing.  It  looked  as  if  it  would  go  up,  even  without 
the  support  of  Esther  and  Naomi. 

"And  you  just  see,  Sister  Rhodes,  if  them  two  don't 
join  in  when  it  gets  up,"  Rude  prophesied. 

"O,  I  don't  know." 

"Wait  and  see,"  and  she  shook  her  head  wisely. 

Sure  enough  Ash  Hayes  and  a  few  others  started  work 
on  the  pavilion  as  soon  as  the  weather  broke  up  in  March. 
I  was  more  interested  in  the  pavilion  itself  than  in  Esther 
and  Naomi,  and  I  hung  about  most  of  the  time.  It  was 
to  be  a  big  smooth  floor,  covered,  but  with  the  sides  left 
open.  I  had  never  seen  a  dance  on  a  pavilion,  but  I  se- 
cretly resolved  that  I  would  be  on  hand  for  the  first  one 
on  the  new  floor. 

Ash  Hayes  and  I  got  to  be  great  friends  while  th*, 
pavilion  was  being  built.  He  was  heavy  and  strong,  and 
I  marvelled  at  the  beams  he  could  lift.  There  was  also 
an  atmosphere  of  romance  about  him  that  gave  me  many 
a  thrill.  He  had  spent  seven  years  in  the  penitentiary, 


168          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  for  that  reason  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  hero.  He 
walked  like  a  soldier,  and  he  often  stopped  work  to  teach 
me  to  march. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  him  so  friendly.  Father  had 
declared  that  he  was  an  enemy  of  the  light,  and  that  all 
his  works  were  works  of  darkness.  I  had  expected  to 
find  him  an  evil,  terrible  creature,  and  for  many  days  I 
did  not  have  the  courage  to  go  near  him.  But  as  I  kept 
seeing  him  every  day,  I  got  to  be  less  afraid,  and  finally 
we  got  well  acquainted.  I  came  to  think  that  father  must 
have  been  mistaken  when  he  said  that  Ash  was  so  wicked. 

Father  announced  that  the  date  set  for  the  baptising 
was  Sunday  the  seventeenth  of  May.  It  was  to  be  a 
great  day.  Services  were  to  be  held  in  the  church  in  the 
forenoon ;  dinner  served  on  the  ground ;  and  in  the  after- 
noon we  were  to  go  down  to  the  big  hole  in  Little  Creek 
for  the  baptising. 

I  loved  to  see  people  baptised.  Father  walking  out  in 
his  shirt  sleeves  and  sounding  the  bottom  with  a  pole; 
the  "candidates"  ranged  up  on  the  bank  in  solemn  rank ; 
and  everywhere,  on  both  sides  of  the  creek,  in  trees 
around  the  hole  and  perched  up  on  the  rocks,  the  spec- 
tators !  And  it  never  failed  to  happen  that  some  one  got 
happy  and  began  to  shout.  Then  would  ensue  a  great 
outpouring  of  grace,  when  all  believers  were  edified.  O, 
it  was  a  sight  well  worth  seeing. 

We  made  great  preparations  for  the  seventeenth. 
Mother  made  Margaret  a  new  dress  to  wear;  father 
pressed  his  longest  Prince  Albert ;  even  Hen  was  to  come 
home  early  from  the  Seminary  in  order  to  be  on  hand. 
And  with  every  day  the  excitement  increased. 

It  so  happened  that  the  very  day  selected  for  the  bap- 
tising was  selected  by  Ash  Hayes  for  the  opening  dance 
in  the  new  pavilion.  Father  was  greatly  troubled  that 
such  a  thing  had  been  done.  Mother  was  more  indignant 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          169 

than  she  usually  allowed  herself  to  get.  While  Rude 
Hamilton  looked  upon  it  as  the  first  step  in  a  series  that 
she  had  predicted  from  the  beginning. 

"I  tell  you,  it  is  the  work  of  the  devil,"  she  declared. 
"And  when  the  day  comes,  where  will  Esther  Olliver 
and  Naomi  Alleau  be  then?  Will  they  be  for  us  or 
against  us?  Will  they  be  up  there  getting  baptised,  or 
down  in  that  bottom?  I  know." 

I  wasn't  so  much  interested  in  that  aspect  of  the  mat- 
ter, although  so  much  had  been  said  that  I  was  curious 
as  to  the  outcome.  Secretly  I  thought  Esther  and  Naomi 
would  stick  to  the  church.  But  I  did  not  worry  about  it, 
one  way  or  the  other. 

What  provoked  me  was  that  both  events  came  on  the 
same  day.  I  did  not  want  to  miss  the  baptising.  But  I 
was  bound  to  see  the  dance.  Both  came  on  the  same 
afternoon,  and  I  was  troubled. 

I  finally  decided  to  stay  away  from  the  baptising  to 
see  the  dance.  I  had  seen  people  baptised  before,  but 
had  never  seen  a  dance.  Therefore,  the  decision. 

My  plan  was  to  slip  down  by  the  river  bank  just  before 
time  to  start  to  church ;  let  them  go  off  without  me ;  and 
then  roam  at  will  over  around  the  pavilion.  True,  father 
had  forbidden  mfe  to  go  near  it.  He  called  it  the  gateway 
of  Sodom,  and  declared  that  no  child  of  his  should  go 
near.  But  I  counted  on  his  being  too  preoccupied  to 
think  of  me ;  and  in  his  preoccupation  lay  my  safety. 

The  momentous  day  dawned  warm  and  beautiful.  I 
took  care  not  to  attract  father's  attention  in  the  morn- 
ing. And  just  before  it  was  time  to  start  to  church  I 
slipped  down  under  the  river  bank  to  wait  until  he  was 
gone.  But,  fateful  sound!  I  heard  his  voice. 

"O  Ben !    Where  are  you  ?    It's  time  to  start,  son." 

I  climbed  up.  He  was  standing  in  the  yard,  all  dressed 
and  ready. 


170          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"I'll  be  there,"  I  evaded,  hoping  against  hope  for  some 
loophole. 

"You  come  on  now,  son,  and  go  with  us." 

I  went.  And  after  the  service  was  over  and  the  bas- 
kets had  been  made  to  disgorge  their  wonderful  contents, 
I  was  exceedingly  glad  I  had  come  along.  There  was 
plenty  of  cold  fried  chicken,  and  that  was  very  dear  to 
me. 

When  we  had  finished  dinner,  we  started  off  for  the 
deep  hole.  There  were  ever  so  many  people  out.  They 
had  come  from  all  over  the  country,  and  not  a  home  for 
miles  around  but  was  represented.  They  walked,  they 
rode  horses  and  mules,  and  one  man  had  brought  his 
family  in  a  rickety  old  wagon  pulled  by  a  yoke  of  oxen ! 

When  we  reached  the  big  hole  there  was  a  scramble 
for  vantage  points.  There  was  a  great  rock  on  the 
western  side  of  the  creek,  whose  sides  sloped  gradually 
up  to  a  high  sharp  peak.  Men  and  boys  lined  the  sides 
of  this  rock  until  it  looked  like  a  solid  wedge  of  human 
beings;  and  it  was  my  great  good  luck  to  scale  up  to 
the  highest 'pinnacle,  where  I  sat  the  topmost  one  of  all. 
From  this  point  of  vantage  I  could  command  a  complete 
view  of  the  whole  scene. 

I  looked  down  into  the  deep  hole  below  me;  saw  the 
blue  water,  and,  far  down  on  the  bottom  in  the  deepest 
place,  a  drift  of  leaves.  I  hoped  father  would  keep  out 
of  those  leaves,  for  they  were  awful  places  for  leeches. 
People  were  crowded  on  both  banks,  and  many  of  the 
boys  had  climbed  up  the  sycamores  that  grew  not  far 
away.  Mother  stood  down  near  the  water  in  a  little 
space  that  had  been  reserved  for  her.  She  was  to  lead 
the  singing.  And  behind  her,  ranged  in  three  long  ranks, 
were  the  candidates  for  baptism.  Some  were  very  sol- 
emn; others  were  clearly  frightened;  while  a  few  were 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          171 

undoubtedly  conscious  of  the  important  part  they  were 
to  play  in  the  programme  of  the  hour. 

And  hemming  us  in  on  three  sides  were  the  quiet 
and  beautiful  hills. 

At  a  signal  from  father,  every  voice  was  hushed.  He 
began  the  service  with  prayer.  Then  he  nodded  to 
mother,  and  she  began  the  song.  It  was  "Abide  with 
Me."  She  carried  the  first  two  lines  alone,  her  voice 
lifting  like  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  turtledove. 

Abide  with  me!     Fast  falls  the  eventide. 
The   darkness   deepens — Lord,   with   me   abide! 

But  as  she  started  in  on  the  next  line,  father  joined 
in.  And  then  Margaret,  and  others,  more  and  more, 
until  all  who  had  come,  whether  religious  or  otherwise, 
had  joined  in. 

Old  Uncle  Henry  Tapps,  well  over  to  one  side,  joined 
his  quavering  voice  with  the  others ;  Harrison  Applebee 
sang  in  a  deep  bass ;  and  somebody  from  a  near-by  syca- 
more joined  in  with  a  beautiful  tenor.  O,  it  was  won- 
derful. Echo  cliff  was  near  there,  ruined  and  red  in  the 
sun,  and  it  took  up  the  tune  and  flung  it  back  to  us. 

Hold  thou  thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes; 
Shine  through  the  gloom  and  point  me  to  the  skies; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  shadows  flee, 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me! 

And  after  we  had  finished,  like  an  unseen  choir  from 
the  spirit  world,  Echo  cliff  flung  the  music  back  to  us. 

And  then  came  one  of  the  most  breathless  moments 
of  all.  Somebody  handed  father  a  long  stick.  H£  took 
it  and  measured  it  with  his  hands.  Then  he  began  to 
wade  slowly  out  into  the  water,  feeling  the  bottom  with 


172          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

the  stick  as  he.  went.  Very  slowly,  with  measured  step, 
thumping  the  bottom  with  the  stick,  he  waded  out  until 
the  water  came  up  to  his  waist.  He  circled  about,  still 
exploring  the  bottom,  and  finally  went  back  to  the  bank, 
his  trousers  clinging  to  his  legs. 

Four  candidates  in  the  front  rank  were  standing  a 
little  apart,  hand  in  hand.  Father  went  up  to  the  one 
on  the  right  and  took  Lis  arm.  Slowly  he  led  them  out 
into  the  water — out  until  it  came  up  to  his  waist  again, 
and  then  they  stopped. 

He  put  his  arm  around  the  waist  of  the  man  he  had  led, 
gripped  the  hands  that  he  had  folded  on  his  breast,  looked 
dreamily  off  into  the  heavens  and  pronounced  the  old 
and  terrible  formula.  Then  he  baptised  him. 

This  same  thing  he  did  with  the  other  three,  and  led 
them  back  to  the  bank.  Four  others  he  led  out,  bap- 
tised and  led  back  again.  And  four  more,  and  still  more. 

The  tension  tightened.  I  could  feel  it  in  the  air. 
There  would  be  an  outburst  sooner  or  later.  I  felt  it. 
Little  shivers  ran  up  my  back. 

From  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  there  was  a  broken 
cry.  There  was  a  rapid  movement,  as  of  some  one 
forcing  his  way  desperately  through  the  throng.  All 
eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  commotion. 

Thomas  Hamilton  forced  his  way  through  the  crowd 
near  the  bank.  He  was  barefooted  and  disheveled.  He 
fell  on  the  sand  at  father's  feet. 

"O  brother,  I  am  a  sinner  saved  by  grace.  I  have 
resisted  the  spirit  these  many  years.  But  I  have  yielded. 
Baptise  me  with  the  others." 

He  was  Rude  Hamilton's  husband,  and  he  had  been  a 
great  sinner.  He  went  down  the  river  every  few  weeks, 
where,  nobody  knew,  but  he  always  came  home  drunk, 
and  abused  Rude  cruelly.  When  she  first  saw  him  come 
out  of  the  crowd  she  looked  amazed.  But  as  he  spoke 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          173 

the  wonderful  words  her  face  softened.  Quickly  she 
elbowed  her  way  over  to  him,  and  fell  down  by  his  side. 

"O  Tommy,  Tommy!"  she  sobbed.  "How  I  have 
prayed  to  see  this  day." 

She  flung  her  arms  about  him  and  sobbed  wildly. 

Then  mother  started  a  hymn : 

Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  blow!    With  gladly  solemn  sound, 
Let  all  the  nations  know,  to  earth's  remotest  bounds, 
The  year  of  jubilee  has  come,  the  year  of  jubilee  has  come, 
Return,  ye  ransomed  sinners,  home! 

With  wild  enthusiasm  the  whole  throng  joined  in,  and 
the  chorus  was  flung  to  the  hills,  and  by  the  echoes  taken 
up  and  flung  back  again.  The  baptismal  outpouring  that 
I  had  sensed  in  the  air  had  come  at  last. 

When  the  service  was  over,  Rude  Hamilton,  with 
shining  eyes,  walked  home  with  Thomas.  It  was  not 
until  I  saw  them  going  happily  down  the  bottom  that  I 
thought  of  Rude's  baleful  prophecy — and  stopped  short. 

Esther  and  Naomi  had  not  been  present. 

Leaving  the  others  behind,  I  made  for  home  as  hard 
as  I  could  run.  When  I  turned  the  bend  in  the  creek 
and  came  in  sight  of  the  new  pavilion,  I  was  met  by  a 
medley  of  sounds.  Ribald  laughter,  high  pitched  voices, 
mingled  with  the  tang  of  the  banjo  and  the  swift  music 
of  the  fiddle.  Back  and  to  over  the  new  floor  the 
dancers  swayed,  and  in  the  swaying  throng — Esther  and 
Naomi. 

Rude  had  been  right. 

I  was  not  sure  whether  father  looked  angry  or  hag- 
gard when  I  told  him  that  evening.  For  the  crowd  had 
dispersed  before  he  reached  the  pavilion  on  his  way  from 
the  baptismal  service.  But  I  do  know  that  his  lips 


174          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

sagged  when  he  heard  it,  and  there  were  weary  lines 
around  his  eyes. 

Before  the  supper  dishes  had  been  cleared  away,  Rude 
came  over.  She  looked  happier  than  usual,  but  she  still 
had  that  wise  confirmatory  look  about  her. 

"Just  thought  I'd  drop  in  a  minute,"  she  explained. 

"Glad  you  came  over.     O,  I'm  so  glad,"  mother  said. 

"I  thought  he  would  see  the  light  some  time,"  and  she 
nodded  sagely.  "It's  an  answer  to  prayer."  Then  after 
a  moment,  "I  tell  you,  Brother  Rhodes,  baptism  is  a  very 
important  thing — that  is,  by  immersion." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  father  answered.  Rather  cautiously,  I 
thought. 

"And  there  are  some  as  are  just  as  well  off  without  it, 
too." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  wearily. 

"I  guess  you  heard?" 

"What?" 

"They  was  at  the  dance." 

"Yes,  I  heard." 

I  could  see  she  wanted  to  enter  more  fully  into  details, 
but  father  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  mother 
sat  looking  into  her  lap.  She  got  up  awkwardly. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  better  git  back." 


f 

Chapter  14 

THE  wonderful  success  of  the  big  meeting  had  in- 
creased father's  popularity  enormously.  There 
never  had  been  such  a  meeting  in  all  Braxton  county. 
And  a  few  of  father's  best  members  were  proud  to  think 
that  it  had  been  in  the  Baptist  church,  for  some  of  the 
other  churches  sprinkled  their  converts,  and  of  course 
such  a  procedure  was  erroneous  to  an  extreme  degree. 

And  the  people  said  there  never  had  been  such  preach- 
ing in  all  that  part  of  the  country.  Father  had  responded 
to  the  occasion  even  more  capably  than  was  usual  with 
him.  And  I  thought  I  never  would  forget  the  sermon 
from  Daniel.  I  still  thought  he  had  been  magnificent  in 
that  sermon,  especially  when  he  had  pounded  the  pulpit 
with  his  clenched  fists.  The  running  had  appealed  to  me, 
and  the  way  he  roared  was  good;  but  that  beating  the 
pulpit  was  the  best  of  all. 

I  knew  the  members  were  feeling  mightily  pleased,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  I  learned  just  what  they  were 
planning  to  do.  I  heard  about  it  up  at  the  store,  and 
had  to  promise  that  I  would  not  tell  a  soul  about  it. 
They  were  going  to  have  a  pound  party  for  us. 

Now  the  pound  party  was  a  custom  to  which  I  agreed 
with  all  my  heart.  When  it  was  even  a  remote  possi- 
bility, I  was  stirred  by  thoughts  of  mysterious  packages 
containing  many  unknown  articles,  any  one  of  which 
might  be  anything  from  a  package  of  raisins  to  an  over- 
coat. 

175 


176          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

For  pound  parties  were  like  that.  Each  one  that  came 
was  supposed  to  bring  a  package  weighing  not  less  than 
a  pound — hence  the  name  of  the  custom.  And  since 
there  was  absolute  freedom  in  the  selection  of  articles, 
the  result  was  more  than  likely  to  be  a  variety  that  of- 
fered boundless  occasion  for  speculation. 

It  was  an  awful  strain  on  me  to  keep  the  promise  I 
had  made  not  to  tell  any  one  about  this  pound  party.  I 
really  did  not  have  to  make  the  promise,  and  I  wished 
devoutly  many  times  that  I  had  not.  Even  as  it  was  I 
am  afraid  mother  surmised  it,  really,  although  she  did 
not  say  so  in  so  many  words. 

But  I  told  her  that  I  knew  of  something  that  was 
going  to  happen,  and  when  she  asked  me  what  it  was 
I  vowed  that  I  would  not  tell  under  any  circumstances.  I 
am  not  positively  sure  that  she  guessed  it,  but  from  the 
very  complete  going  over  the  house  got  that  day,  and 
from  the  immaculate  condition  in  which  she  kept  it  from 
that  time  on,  I  feared  I  had  been  just  a  little  indiscreet. 

As  for  father,  I  never  could  tell  just  what  he  knew 
and  what  he  was  letting  on.  He  had  an  uncanny  way 
of  finding  out  things,  but  he  also  had  a  way  of  keeping 
still  about  them.  One  year,  I  remember,  when  they  gave 
a  pound  party  for  us,  I  was  certain  he  knew  about  it  for 
a  long  time  before  the  night  set.  I  had  slipped  into  the 
kitchen  and  heard  him  telling  mother  all  about  it. 

But  when  the  people  arrived  and  began  to  carry  on, 
and  act  as  if  they  were  going  to  do  goodness  knew  what, 
he  pretended  to  be  greatly  taken  aback.  He  laughed  and 
stamped  about  and  scratched  his  head  as  if  he  had  been 
caught  entirely  unawares  and  unprepared. 

So  I  really  did  not  know  whether  he  had  heard  about 
it  or  not.  But  mother — she  did  not  let  an  afternoon  go 
by  that  she  did  not  set  the  house  in  order.  Father  often 
said  that  we  should  never  let  a  day  go  by  without  get- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          177 

ting  everything  ready  so  that  if  the  end  of  the  world 
should  come  during  the  night  we  would  be  ready  for  the 
Judgment.  That  was  about  the  way  mother  fixed  up  the 
house.  She  had  everything  ready. 

It  was  very  still  and  hot  when  the  evening  came. 
Mother  and  Margaret  finished  the  supper  dishes  and  came 
into  the  living  room.  We  had  not  lit  the  lamp,  for  we 
thought  it  might  be  a  little  cooler  without  it.  It  was 
hardly  dark  enough  for  it,  anyway,  for  in  the  summer 
the  twilight  was  long. 

Father  was  sitting  over  by  the  window,  looking  off 
up  the  river,  and  whistling  some  old  tune.  He  looked  as 
though  he  might  be  meditating  upon  some  very  difficult 
problem,  like  the  Trinity,  for  the  Trinity  troubled  father 
quite  a  little.  He  could  not  seem  to  get  it  straightened 
out  in  his  own  mind.  I  thought  he  might  be  working 
on  it  this  evening,  he  looked  so  preoccupied. 

I  went  over  near  him  and  looked  him  over,  although  I 
let  on  I  was  looking  up  the  bottom.  And  would  you  be- 
lieve it?  He  was  aH  dressed  up.  Not  with  his  Prince 
Albert,  of  course.  But  he  had  shaved,  and  his  shoes 
were  polished.  We  polished  our  shoes  by  turning  up  a 
stove  lid  and  using  the  soot  on  it  for  polish;  and  I  re- 
membered that  he  had  been  working  in  the  kitchen  that 
afternoon. 

Yes,  sir,  he  knew  they  were  coming.  He  knew  it  as 
well  as  I  did.  And  I  just  went  back  over  to  the  reading 
table  and  waited  to  see  how  he  would  act  when  the 
people  really  came. 

When  the  first  sounds  were  heard  outside  he  looked 
up,  listening  intently.  And  when  Rude  Hamilton  opened 
the  door  and  walked  in,  he  nodded  to  her  as  if  welcoming 
her  for  a  quiet  evening. 

She  came  in  first.  She  wore  her  blue  calico  dress  and 
looked  long  and  lean  as  she  entered.  Her  face  was 


178          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

pleasant,  pleasanter  than  usual,  but  as  she  took  a  step  or 
two  inside  she  jerked  her  head  from  side  to  side  quickly, 
and  there  was  a  searching,  ferret-like  look  in  her  black 
eyes  as  she  took  in  every  detail  of  the  room.  Then  she 
spoke. 

"Well,  Brother  Rhodes,  we  are  here." 

Father  looked  genuinely  surprised.  And  as  one  after 
another  filed  into  the  room,  he  looked  even  more  per- 
plexed. 

"Well,  I  declare,  if  there  isn't  Brother  Tolliver,  and 
you,  Brother  Ellanger,  and  Brother  McRand.  Well,  well. 
What " 

"Just  a  little  party,  Brother,"  some  one  said. 

Then  father  seemed  to  comprehend,  and  broke  into  a 
merry  laugh. 

"A  little  party  ?    Well,  upon  my  word !" 

O,  he  was  clever  about  it ! 

As  each  one  came  in,  there  was  a  sly  trip  over  to  the 
bed,  and  a  great  mound  of  packages  soon  appeared.  To 
this  I  soon  directed  my  whole  attention.  I  was  a  little 
curious  to  see  the  people,  but  I  was  far  more  curious 
to  see  the  packages.  I  knew  I  could  not  open  a  single 
one  until  every  one  was  gone.  But  at  least  I  could 
look  at  them  and  try  to  guess  what  was  in  them. 

I  knew  at  a  glance  that  the  long  package  on  top  was 
coffee.  I  was  sorry,  too,  for  coffee  is  such  a  common- 
place thing.  But  a  little  package  out  to  one  side  offered 
greater  possibilities.  It  really  looked  mysterious.  It 
might  be  soda,  of  course.  It  might  be  soup  beans.  And 
then — it  might  be  brown  sugar.  I  hoped  devoutly  it  was. 
For  brown  sugar  was  just  about  as  good  as  real  candy, 
especially  if  it  had  big  lumps  in  it.  And  even  if  it  did 
not,  I  knew  it  was  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to  reach 
into  the  poke  and  so  grapple  for  it  that  my  fingers  would 
bring  out  a  fair  sized  pyramid  of  it. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          179 

I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  lean  over  and  feel 
the  poke,  for  if  it  was  not  brown  sugar  I  did  not  want 
to  go  on  thinking  it  might  be  and  then  be  disappointed. 
While  if  it  was,  I  wanted  to  know  it  sure. 

But  mother  hurried  over  to  me. 

"Ben,  you  come  away  from  there,"  she  whispered  scan- 
dalised. 

And  as  if  afraid  that  I  might  not  execute  the  com- 
mand quickly  enough,  she  got  me  firmly  by  the  hand 
and  led  me  away.  And  the  only  thing  I  could  do 
from  that  on  was  to  walk  aimlessly  about  and  speculate 
in  my  own  mind.  I  thought  the  time  never  would  come 
for  them  to  go. 

When  they  had  been  there  hours  and  hours,  Brother 
Tolliver  got  up.  He  smiled  about  him,  and  began  to 
speak.  I  always  thought  he  was  nice  when  he  spoke. 
His  voice  was  so  soft. 

"Brother  Rhodes,  you  have  done  us  great  service. 
You  have  staid  up  here  and  worked  among  us  when  you 
might  have  gone  out  into  the  world  and  done  wonderful 
things.  We  can't  do  much,  for  we  are  kind  of  poor. 
But  we  want  to  do  what  we  can.  This  little  package," 
and  he  held  up  a  little  square  package  that  immediately 
fired  my  imagination,  "is  not  worth  much  in  money.  But 
it  comes  as  a  little  token,  and  maybe  it  might  please  ye." 

He  handed  it  over,  and  father  unwrapped  it.  He  drew 
out  a  big  silver  watch.  There  was  a  silver  chain  at- 
tached, and  on  it  the  watch  key  was  hung.  Father  looked 
long  at  it,  and  then  got  up  as  if  to  speak,  but  Brother 
Tolliver  motioned  him  to  sit  back  down.  He  began  again. 

"And  we  can't  forget  Sister  Rhodes.  We  all  think 
a  lot  of  Sister  Rhodes,  and  we  want  to  give  her  this." 

He  gave  her  a  big,  heavy  package.  It  was  a  big  pair 
of  white  woollen  blankets,  so  I  was  not  at  all  interested  in 


180          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

it.  But  I  did  want  to  see  the  watch.  Maybe  father 
would  give  me  his  old  one ! 

They  staid  on  for  some  time  after  that,  and  I  began 
to  get  impatient  again.  Would  they  never  go  home?  I 
went  over  in  the  direction  of  the  bed  again,  but  mother's 
eye  was  on  me,  and  I  dared  not  go  very  close. 

At  last  they  did  go,  all  with  some  particular  word  to 
say.  I  could  see  that  father  was  in  high  spirits;  and 
mother  was  too,  only  she  looked  as  if  she  wanted  to  cry 
more  than  anything  else. 

When  they  were  gone,  I  turned  impatiently  back  into 
the  room.  Rude  Hamilton  was  standing  in  the  centre 
of  the  room.  She  seemed  on  the  point  of  going,  yet  hesi- 
tated. She  spoke  to  mother. 

"Of  course  I  think  they  are  all  right,"  she  said,  in  a 
way  that  made  it  plain  that  there  was,  nevertheless,  plenty 
of  room  for  improvement.  "But  I  do  think  people  some- 
times take  advantage  of  them." 

"O,  I  think  it  is  beautiful,"  mother  said. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  it's  not  so  beautiful  when 
some  one  that  could  bring  more  slips  in  something  they 
want  to  get  rid  of." 

"O,  I  don't  think  they  do  that." 

"That's  just  because  you  don't  know  'em  like  I  do. 
Now  take  that  pile  there.  I  wonder  what's  in  it  ?" 

She  went  over  toward  it  hopefully. 

"I'm  sure  it's  just  full  of  nice  things,"  mother  said. 

"I  wonder  now,"  and  she  looked  at  the  bed. 

"I  know  it." 

She  turned  to  father. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  better  go." 

"Don't  hurry  off,  Sister,"  he  said  cordially. 

"Guess  I  ain't  been.  Funny  package,  that,"  and  she 
went  over  toward  the  bed  again  and  glanced  at  a  long 
package. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          181 

"Yes,  we  never  can  tell  what  is  in  them  until  we  open 
them.  I  just  love  to  go  through  them." 

"Must  be  right  smart  interesting." 

"Very  interesting,"  father  said  emphatically. 

"I  suppose  so?"  and  she  lingered. 

I  thought  she  never  would  go,  and  I  wished  father 
would  quit  being  so  cordial.  Maybe  she  might  go  sooner 
if  he  did.  But  he  seemed  in  no  hurry,  and  talked  on 
and  on. 

Then  there  was  a  silence,  and  she  went  back  to  mother. 

"Well,  I  must  go,  Sister  Rhodes.  I  hope  you  can  use 
the  things  as  was  fetched." 

"O  we  can,  all  right.     Don't  hurry  off,  though." 

"Guess  I  must  go,"  patiently. 

She  backed  slowly  toward  the  door,  stood  for  an  in- 
stant looking  at  us,  cast  a  last  glance  over  the  bed,  and 
went  out. 

For  the  next  few  days  it  was  possible  to  lay  my  hand 
on  a  package  of  soda  in  almost  any  part  of  our  house. 
We  had  not  really  needed  any,  even  a  little.  But  we  got 
it,  and  got  it  good  and  plenty.  Nine  packages  in  all  and 
all  were  not  in  pound  pokes.  Some  had  gone  beyond  the 
letter  of  the  law  of  pound  parties,  and  brought  much 
heavier  packages  of  soda.  Coffee  stood  next  in  abun- 
dance. It  was  put  up  in  long  red  packages,  and  as  one 
after  another  was  sorted  out,  I  reflected  gloomily  that  it 
would  take  a  long  time  to  grind  it  all  in  our  old  coffee 
grinder.  The  knob  on  the  crank  of  our  coffee  grinder 
was  broken  off,  and  it  was  hard  to  turn.  And  it  was  one 
of  my  regular  jobs  to  grind  the  coffee.  I  wished  the 
people  had  not  brought  so  much.  And  then  there  was 
the  rice.  As  father  sorted  over  poke  after  poke  of  rice, 
even  he  was  appalled,  and  said  we  would  have  to  speak 


182          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

in  Chinese  after  that.  I  did  not  know  what  he  meant, 
but  it  evidently  had  something  to  do  with  rice. 

And  there  was  one  pound  of  brown  sugar.  There  was 
some  granulated,  but  it  was  too  much  like  sand  to  eat. 

When  we  had  prayers  that  night  I  really  could  not  see 
how  father  had  the  heart  to  thank  the  Lord  for  all  that 
soda,  but  he  did.  Maybe  he  got  out  of  it  by  bulking 
everything  together  and  giving  thanks  for  the  bulk. 

And  after  that  rice  had  been  used  up,  I  was  never 
again  so  positive  in  my  conviction  that  pound  parties  are 
unmixed  blessings. 


Chapter  15 

MOTHER  had  been  sick -for  a  long  time,  and  the 
house  was  never  a  very  pleasant  place  when  mother 
was  sick.  Of  course  Margaret  did  the  cooking,  and  she 
was  really  very  good  at  it.  She  was  also  pretty  handy 
at  keeping  things  straight  about  the  house.  But  when 
mother  was  sick,  everything  was  gloomy.  The  blinds 
had  to  be  down  in  the  room  where  she  was,  things  got 
in  an  awful  muss  in  spite  of  Margaret,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  be  absolutely  quiet. 

That  was  very  bad.  As  a  usual  thing,  when  I  went 
into  the  house  I  did  not  walk  in  quietly.  I  much  pre- 
ferred slipping  up  to  the  door,  opening  it  noiselessly,  and 
then  bounding  far  into  the  room  with  a  roar.  This  never 
failed  to  produce  a  marked  effect  on  those  within.  But 
with  mother  sick,  this  was  entirely  out  of  the  question, 
not  only  because  the  noise  would  make  her  worse,  but 
also  because  it  was  not  a  very  safe  thing  to  burst  into 
the  room  like  that  when  father  was  in  it  alone. 

So  I  had  practically  abandoned  the  house  except  for 
meals  and  at  night.  I  came  in  for  dinner  and  supper, 
but  slipped  out  again  as  quickly  as  possible. 

A  peddler  had  passed  through  our  way  not  many  days 
before,  and  had  displayed  a  marvellous  device.  There 
was  a  big  wheel,  a  small  wheel,  and  a  very  little  wheel, 
all  on  one  base  and  connected  by  belts.  By  turning  a 
crank  the  big  wheel  revolved;  and  when  it  revolved  the 
smaller  wheel  revolved  also,  only  much  faster.  And  with 

183 


184     • 

the  turning  of  the  small  wheel,  the  very  little  wheel  per- 
formed wonders.  It  just  tore  around.  And  by  making 
a  curve  on  the  axle  bar  of  this  little  wheel,  a  small  sharp 
drill  shot  back  and  to  with  enormous  force. 

Of  course  father  did  not  buy  the  machine  from  the 
peddler.  But  I  had  looked  it  over  for  a  long  time,  and 
had  figured  out  just  how  it  was  made.  And  while  mother 
was  sick  I  was  trying  to  make  one  of  the  things.  I  used 
our  big  grindstone  as  the  first  wheel,  sawed  off  the  end 
of  a  gum  tree  for  the  second,  and  used  a  spool  for  the 
third.  It  was  not  all  easy  work,  and  the  results  were 
slow.  Our  grindstone  was  worn  off  too  much  on  one 
side  and  was  very  wabbly.  When  I  tried  to  get  up  much 
speed  it  zigzagged  around  and  threw  the  belt  off  in  spite 
of  all  I  could  do.  And  it  was  extremely  hard  to  make 
a  curve  on  the  axle  bar  of  the  little  wheel  that  would 
draw  the  drill  back  properly.  It  was  forever  getting 
hung  up  and  throwing  things  out  of  gear.  But  I  worked 
long  and  patiently,  and  soon  had  the  thing  rigged  up 
until  it  worked  with  a  speed  and  smoothness  extremely 
pleasing. 

I  was  working  at  it  one  morning  when  Margaret  called 
me. 

"Ben,  come  here,  quick." 

She  spoke  in  a  low  frightened  tone,  and  I  did  not  even 
stop  to  ask  what  she  wanted.  I  knew  something  was 
wrong. 

"What  is  it  ?"  I  asked  as  I  hurried  up. 

"Father  wants  you,  quick." 

I  ran  in.  Father  motioned  for  quiet.  I  tiptoed  up  to 
him. 

"Ben,  you  saddle  Bird  and  go  over  to  Big  Bend  and 
get  Mother.  If  you  hurry  you  can  get  there  to-night. 
Put  the  horse  up  and  feed  her,  and  you  and  Mother  start 
back  early  to-morrow.  Hurry,  now." 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          185 

J^Is  mother  worse?" 

"Yes,  and  much  worse.  She  may  not  live  if  you  fail  to 
get  back  on  time." 

I  hurried  out  as  fast  as  I  could  run.  I  knew  some- 
thing terrible  was  the  matter  if  Mother  had  to  be  sent  for. 
She  was  father's  mother.  We  called  her  Mother,  and 
mother's  mother  Grandma,  so  as  not  to  get  the  two  mixed. 
Mother  was  a  great  hand  to  take  care  of  sick  people. 
She  knew  just  how  to  tend  them  and  what  to  let  them 
eat.  And  she  would  do  all  the  housework.  Whenever 
anybody  was  just  very  bad  sick,  Mother  was  sent  for. 

I  put  my  little  light  saddle  on  Bird,  broke  off  a  switch 
from  a  birch  tree,  got  on  and  started.  It  was  almost 
noon,  and  I  would  have  to  ride  hard  all  day  and  far  into 
the  night  to  get  to  Big  Bend.  But  I  knew  every  minute 
counted.  Bird  seemed  to  understand  it,  too,  for  when- 
ever the  road  was  level  enough  she  broke  into  her  short 
choppy  rack  and  never  slowed  down  while  the  road  was 
good. 

My,  how  I  did  love  to  ride.  From  as  far  back  as  I 
could  remember  I  had  ridden  horseback.  At  first  it 
was  behind  father,  and  when  the  horse  trotted  he  held 
the  bridle  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  got  tight  hold 
upon  my  leg  and  kept  me  steady.  But  because  there 
were  so  many  places  I  had  to  go  alone,  I  soon  learned 
to  ride  alone.  And  there  was  no  horse  that  I  had  ever 
seen  that  I  could  not  ride.  None  could  throw  me,  for  I 
knew  just  how  they  jumped,  and  when  they  would  balk, 
and  how  they  would  lunge  from  side  to  side. 

And  the  horses  always  took  to  me.  Maybe  it  was 
because  I  usually  fed  them ;  or  maybe  it  was  because  they 
could  see  I  was  not  afraid  of  them.  But  they  would 
always  whinny  when  I  came  near,  and  stick  out  their 
noses  to  be  rubbed.  And  Bird  was  my  favourite.  She 


186          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

was  grey  and  plump,  with  a  round  soft  back,  and  slim 
legs. 

And  as  we  travelled  over  the  road  to  Big  Bend  I 
would  stroke  her  mane,  and  pat  her  back  of  the  saddle 
and  talk  to  her.  She  would  lay  back  her  little  ears  and 
listen  understandingly  to  all  I  had  to  say.  And  when 
we  got  to  a  place  where  the  road  was  straight  and 
level  I  would  touch  her  with  the  whip  lightly.  She 
understood,  and  stretching  out  her  neck  she  would  lope 
rapidly  along,  her  feet  clattering  on  the  ground  and  the 
trees  flying  past. 

I  had  brought  nothing  to  eat,  and  along  in  the  after- 
noon I  got  very  hungry.  I  decided  I  could  do  without 
anything  until  I  reached  Big  Bend,  but  as  the  sun  went 
down  I  became  famished.  I  began  to  look  for  a  house, 
and  after  a  long  time  saw  one  up  in  a  clearing  not  far 
from  the  road.  I  reined  in  and  called, 

"Hello,"  I  called  at  the  top  of  my  voice.    No  answer. 

"Hello,"  I  called  again. 

I  saw  a  little  girl  slip  cautiously  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  and  look  down  at  me. 

"Anybody  at  home  ?"  I  yelled  at  her. 

She  stood  looking  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
and  ran  back  round  the  house.  Soon  a  tall  woman,  with 
light  hair  hanging  down  about  her  face,  came  round  the 
corner.  She  wore  a  faded  blue  dress  that  came  down 
almost  to  her  ankles,  and  was  barefooted. 

"Could  I  get  something  to  eat  here  ?"  I  called  to  her. 

"Where  you  from?"  she  answered  back. 

I  told  her.  I  told  her  all  about  myself,  who  I  was, 
where  I  was  going  and  why.  She  knew  both  father  and 
mother,  and  thawed  out  on  the  instant. 

"I  hain't  got  nothing  much  in  the  house,  but  I  guess 
we  can  find  something.  Nellie  you  go  git  five  years  of 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          187 

corn  fer  the  horse.  Git  big  yaller  years.  Come  on  up, 
Bennie,  and  we  will  see  what  we  can  find." 

I  didn't  want  to  stop,  but  I  was  hungry  and  I  knew 
Bird  ought  to  be  fed.  So  I  went  up.  Nellie  came  down 
with  the  corn,  and  I  laid  it  down  on  the  grass  and  took 
the  bits  out  of  Bird's  mouth,  and  let  her  eat  it.  The 
woman  went  inside,  and  soon  came  out  with  a  big  hunk 
of  yellow  pone  and  a  cup  of  sweet  milk.  I  ate  it  with 
great  relish  while  she  stood  leaning  up  against  the  door 
watching  me.  When  I  had  finished  I  sprang  up  and  went 
over  to  Bird.  She  had  not  finished  her  corn,  and  was 
struggling  to  bite  it  off  the  cob.  I  picked  up  the  un- 
finished ears  and  shelled  off  the  corn  so  she  could  eat  it 
quicker ;  and  she,  sensing  the  need  for  haste,  lipped  it  up 
in  great  mouth  fuls. 

"So  Anne  be  sick,  eh?"  the  woman  asked  me. 

"Yes,  she's  very  bad.  I  must  get  back  with  Mother 
to-morrow  night." 

"Hain't  ye  afeerd  to  ride  by  yourself  at  night?" 

Now  it  happened  that  I  was  afraid,  most  horribly 
afraid,  for  Mother  had  often  told  us  of  panthers  jump- 
ing off  limbs  onto  the  horse's  back  while  she  had  been 
riding  under  trees  at  night.  One  reason  we  all  liked  so 
well  for  Mother  to  come  to  our  house  was  that  she  would 
sit  knitting  until  long  into  the  night,  and  with  us  gath- 
ered round  her,  would  tell  us  all  sorts  of  stories.  Some 
were  funny,  and  others  were  awful.  I  liked  the  latter 
best  when  she  was  telling  them,  but  the  stories  of  those 
panthers  had  haunted  me  all  day.  But  I  wasn't  going  to 
tell  her  so. 

"No,  I  ain't  afraid.     Nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"Hain't  ye  afeerd  of  painters?" 

"Huh,  there  are  no  panthers  any  more." 

"I  have  hearn  tell  of  whole  dens  of  'em." 

"I  ain't  afraid." 


188          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"What's  wrong  with  Anne?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Don't  know.    She's  just  bad  sick." 

"Sick  of  what?" 

"Nothing.    Just  sick." 

"How  many  air  there  in  your  family?"  she  asked 
pointedly. 

"Three." 

"Air  you  the  baby?"  I  thought  she  laughed  slightly, 
and  I  did  not  answer.  Bird  had  eaten  her  corn  by  this 
time,  and  putting  the  bits  back  into  her  mouth  I  swung 
up  into  the  saddle. 

"Good-bye,"  I  called  over  my  shoulder,  and  was  gone. 

I  rode  on  and  on  and  on.  I  got  so  tired  sitting  in  the 
saddle  that  I  would  stand  up  in  the  stirrups,  then  on  one 
foot,  and  then  slip  back  out  of  the  saddle.  And  as  a 
last  expedient  I  would  throw  my  leg  up  over  the  horn  of 
the  saddle  and  ride  aside  like  a  woman. 

There  was  a  long  twilight,  when  the  trees  stood  very 
still  and  the  crickets  chirped  by  the  side  of  the  road: 
Then  it  got  dusk,  and  the  stumps  and  fallen  trees  looked 
uneven  and  ghostly.  And  finally  it  got  dark,  very  dark. 
When  I  could  see  the  sky  the  stars  looked  very  dim 
and  distant ;  and  when  we  went  through  thick  woods  I 
could  see  absolutely  nothing.  At  such  times  I  would  give 
Bird  her  head  and  allow  her  to  choose  her  way. 

And  panthers!  In  my  imagination  every  overhanging 
bough  concealed  one,  and  every  noise  of  the  night  I 
imagined  was  the  soft  beat  of  one's  tail  as  it  patted 
stealthily  while  preparing  to  spring.  But  as  the  night 
wore  on,  nothing  happened,  and  just  as  a  little  disc  of 
a  moon  peeped  above  a  dark  silent  mountain,  I  reached 
Big  Bend. 

They  were  all  in  bed,  and  I  sat  on  the  horse  in  the 
yard  while  I  called  out  to  them.  Soon  the  door  opened 
and  Uncle  Benjamin  stepped  out.  He  had  on  a  short 


189 

rought  night-shirt  that  Mother  had  made  for  him,  spin- 
ning the  material  herself.  He  was  so  tall  that  he  had 
had  to  stoop  slightly  when  he  came  through  the  door, 
and  he  stood  there  on  the  porch  barefooted,  a  very  moun- 
tain of  a  man.  He  was  even  bigger  than  father. 

"Who's  there?"  his  big  voice  boomed  out  at  me. 

"It's  Ben.    I've  come  for  Mother,"  I  said. 

"Who  is  it?  Ben?"  and  I  heard  Mother's  voice  from 
within.  Soon  she  came  out,  wearing  a  trim  white  little 
night-cap  and  with  a  large  shawl  engulfing  her. 

I  knew  just  how  she  looked  before  she  came  out  and 
peered  up  into  my  face.  She  had  not  changed  a  bit. 
Mother  was  always  tidy.  'Father  told  her  once  she  would 
stop  to  fix  up  before  she  went  out  if  the  house  were  on 
fire.  And  she  looked  it.  Always  neat,  her  white  hair 
coiled  up  on  her  head,  her  voice  slow  and  comfortable, 
with  a  little  purr  in  it.  And  then  there  was  her 
little  chin.  It  was  a  funny  little  thing,  sticking  out 
rakishly  from  her  soft  throat.  O,  I  liked  Mother  all 
right. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  Bennie,"  she  cried  delightedly,  pulling 
me  down  from  the  horse.  "Come  right  in,  and  I'll  fix 
you  a  big  bowl  of  mush  and  milk.  My,  how  you  have 
grown.  O,  and  what's  wrong?"  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"Mother  is  bad  sick,  and  father  sent  me  after  you." 

"Anne  sick  ?    And  what  ails  her  ?" 

"Just  sick." 

"Poor  Anne.  I  must  go  to  her  at  once."  That  was 
Mother.  She  took  right  hold  of  a  thing  the  minute  she 
knew  about  it,  and  nothing  ever  lagged  when  she  was 
around.  Outside  of  mother  herself,  I  would  raiher  have 
her  in  the  house  than  anybody  else. 

We  went  inside  while  Uncle  Benjamin  put  up  Bird. 
Mother  soon  had  me  a  great  bowl  of  hot  mush  and  milk, 
and  I  ate  until  there  was  no  more  in  sight.  Then  I  was 


190          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

very  sleepy;  and  soon  I  was  in  a  cool  fresh  bed,  from 
which  I  never  stirred  until  called  to  breakfast  the  next 
morning. 

It  was  still  early.  The  road  down  by  the  river  bend 
was  damp  and  cool  as  we  rode  over  it.  The  river  mur- 
mured over  the  shoals,  and  the  mist  had  lifted  from  it 
and  was  just  clearing  the  mountains.  Paw-paw  bushes 
grew  by  the  road,  and  their  green  leaves  glistened  with 
the  dew.  I  breathed  the  cool  sweet  air  down  into  my 
lungs  and  was  glad  for  the  long  road  that  lay  before  us 
that  day. 

We  seldom  talked.  Mother  rode  on  ahead  of  me  on  a 
big  bay  horse.  It  took  long  steps,  and  as  it  stepped 
along  Mother  would  sway  back  and  to  in  the  saddle. 
Her  long  riding  skirt  trailed  down  and  hid  the  saddle 
girth;  and  she  kept  her  head  steadfastly  to  the  front. 

We  were  within  a  few  miles  of  home  when  we  met  a 
man  who  had  been  by  our  house  that  morning.  He  said 
he  had  inquired  about  mother. 

"Don't  say  a  word!"  Mother  said  to  him,  so  sharply 
that  I  was  astonished  at  her. 

"I  understand,  Mrs.  Rhodes,"  he  said  gently. 

"If  it's  bad  news,"  she  explained  nervously,  "I  must 
be  where  I  can  lay  right  down.  I  couldn't  stand  it. 
O,  I  couldn't  stand  it,"  she  wailed. 

When  we  turned  the  bend  and  saw  our  house,  we 
saw  father  standing  like  a  statue  by  the  gate.  He  saw 
us,  but  for  some  time  he  continued  to  stand  like  an 
image.  Somehow  I  didn't  feel  at  all  anxious.  I  never 
had  really  been  alarmed  about  mother.  Deep  in  my  heart 
I  was  convinced  that  she  would  get  well  all  right.  But 
Mother  was  plainly  nervous.  She  didn't  hurry  her  horse 
forward,  but  as  it  walked  along  and  she  swayed  back 
and  to,  there  was  a  wild  anxious  look  about  her  that 
spoke  far  louder  than  words.  When  we  crossed  Little 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          191 

Creek,  father  came  rapidly  toward  us.  And  when  I  saw 
his  face,  I  knew  that  I  had  been  right  all  along.  For 
he  was  all  smiles,  and  there  was  a  spring  and  jauntiness 
about  his  step  that  certainly  was  not  there  when  I  went 
away. 

"Hello,  Mother,"  he  hailed  us.  "Hello,  Ben.  My, 
what  a  trip  you  must  have  made.  Back  before  dark!" 

"Well,  well,  now,  if  it  isn't  Peter,"  Mother  called  to 
him,  her  soft  voice  gurgling  with  delight.  "And  how 
is  she?" 

I  really  didn't  listen  to  what  father  said.  I  didn't 
need  to.  I  knew  from  the  way  he  acted  that  she  was 
all  right.  It  struck  me  first  as  terribly  comic  to  hear 
Mother  call  him  Peter.  Most  men  called  him  Brother 
when  speaking  to  him,  and  the  Parson  when  he  wasn't 
around.  I  was  used  to  that,  and  also  used  to  hearing 
mother  call  him  Tommy.  But  Peter !  I  wanted  to  laugh 
right  out.  And  then  I  was  puzzled  by  the  way  father 
acted.  It  wasn't  as  if  mother  were  better.  From  the 
way  he  laughed  and  jumped  around  she  might  have  been 
right  out  there  with  him. 

"Everything  is  all  right  now,  son.  You  put  the  horses 
away  and  feed  them,  and  then  come  back.  I  want  to 
show  you  something." 

I  went  out  and  put  the  horses  away,  and  came  back 
slowly.  Father  met  me  at  the  door.  He  smiled  and 
pulled  me  into  the  room. 

"Come  here,  son." 

I  followed  him  in.  On  the  bed  over  in  the  corner 
mother  was  lying,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  little 
chin  almost  hid  by  her  smiles,  Mother  was  standing.  I 
went  up  to  the  bed.  Mother  smiled  wanly.  Then  she 
put  out  her  hand  for  me  to  hold.  I  got  it,  and  looked 
down  at  her.  For  a  moment  I  stood  there,  not  saying  a 


192          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

word,  until  father  reached  over  my  shoulder  and  pulled 
back  the  covers  slightly. 

I  was  completely  dumfounded  by  what  I  saw.  In 
the  crook  of  mother's  elbow  was  a  little  red  wrinkled 
baby !  Its  little  eyes  were  almost  covered  by  the  wrinkles 
that  seemed  the  most  prominent  part  about  it,  and  it 
moved  slightly  in  an  aimless  way.  I  looked  closer  and 
saw  that  its  nose  was  not  red  and  wrinkled  like  the  rest 
of  it,  but  looked  white  and  soft,  almost  transparent. 

I  looked  up  at  mother.  She  was  regarding  me  and  the 
baby  by  turns,  and  as  her  eyes  rested  upon  it,  they  seemed 
to  glow  with  a  soft  and  steady  fire.  Her  face  was 
so  soft  and  tender  that  it  made  me  feel  ashamed. 

For  my  first  emotion  had  been  surprise,  but  this  had 
quickly  changed  to  disgust,  and  to  disgust  had  been  added 
resentment  when  I  saw  how  mother  looked  at  the  baby. 
I  wanted  to  get  out,  away  from  the  horrible  little  thing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her,  Ben?"  father  asked  jovi- 
ally. 

"Her?"  I  asked  in  some  perplexity. 

"Sure.  Her.  The  baby.  It's  a  girl.  What  do  you 
think  of  her?" 

I  simply  could  not  think  what  I  thought  of  her.  But 
in  my  heart  I  knew  she  was  the  ugliest  creature  I 
had  ever  seen. 

Mother  leaned  down  over  the  bed  and  picked  her  up. 
She  kicked  out  a  little  red  foot  and  waved  chubby  arms 
awkwardly. 

"How  like  Anne  she  js,"  Mother  said,  holding  her  close 
and  then  off  at  arms'  length  as  if  to  get  a  more  accurate 
appraisal.  "Just  Anne  over  again.  How  is  you,  little 
Anne  ?"  and  she  hugged  her  closely. 

And  Little  Anne  she  was  ever  called 


Chapter  16 

MOTHER  had  been  with  us  a  week  before  we  could 
persuade  her  to  tell  us  any  stories.  In  her  mild 
way  she  made  it  perfectly  clear  that  there  were  things 
she  had  to  do  that  could  not  be  put  off. 

"Well,  well,  now,  it  beats  all  how  things  have  run 
down  since  Anne  got  sick.  Here  the  yard  is  all  cluttered 
up  with  trash ;  the  kitchen  is  a  sight ;  and  the  whole  house 
looks  like  it  had  never  been  swept." 

And  from  the  way  she  started  in  to  clean  up,  all  she 
said  and  more  might  literally  have  been  true. 

Margaret  had  heard  all,  but  without  resentment.  She 
had  had  such  a  hard  time  of  it  that  she  could  feel  only 
relief  that  another  had  taken  the  burden  off  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"She  can  say  what  she  pleases,  as  long  as  I  don't  have 
to  do  the  work,"  she  told  me  candidly. 

And  Mother  took  hold  like  a  general. 

She  first  sent  father  out  into  the  yard  with  instruc- 
tions to  clean  up  everything.  She  emphasised  the  last 
word  by  an  inflection  all  her  own,  that  made  father  un- 
derstand that  everything  whatever  was  to  be  set  in  order. 
And  I  was  glad  she  did,  for  he  was  forever  preaching 
about  not  leaving  undone  anything  that  ought  to  be  done, 
and  it  tickled  me  to  have  the  tables  turned.  She  called 
him  Peter,  and  that  tickled  me  most  of  all. 

But  what  amazed  me  most  was  the  way  she  ordered 
him  around.  It  was  just  like  he  ordered  me  around. 


194         The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

But  the  surprising  thing  about  it  was,  that  he  did  every- 
thing she  said.  Sometimes  when  she  spoke  sharply  to 
him,  like  an  officer  whipping  out  a  command  the  way  Ash 
Hayes  said  officers  did,  I  held  my  breath  for  fear  of 
what  he  might  do.  But  he  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  did  just  what  she  told  him. 

She  herself  started  in  the  kitchen.  She  turned  up  a 
stove  lid  and  made  some  blacking  out  of  the  soot,  and 
polished  the  stove  until  it  shone  like  enamel.  Then  she 
got  down  on  her  knees  and  went  thoroughly  over  the 
floor.  It  looked  darker  and  worse  than  ever  just  after 
she  had  finished  it.  But  it  soon  dried,  and  then  it  was 
white  and  sweet.  She  took  a  whole  day  for  the  dishes 
and  pots  and  pans  and  kettles.  She  scoured  the  dish 
pans  and  the  coffeepot  last,  and  by  a  clever  twist  of 
her  finger  against  their  surface  she  made  them  look  as 
if  they  were  set  with  stones. 

And  after  everything  in  the  kitchen  had  been  done,  and 
she  had  surveyed  the  result  to  make  sure  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  do,  she  started  in  on  the  rest  of  the  house. 
To  begin  with,  she  piled  most  of  the  furniture  out  in  the 
yard.  Father  came  up  just  about  that  time.  He  cast 
one  look  about  him  and  went  in  where  mother  was. 

"Anne,  several  of  the  people  up  at  the  River  are  sick, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  go  up  and  spend  a  day 
or  two  with  them." 

He  looked  greatly  downhearted  at  having  to  go. 

Mother  was  a  lot  more  like  her  old  self,  for  her  eyes 
twinkled  as  father  spoke. 

"I  am  sorry,  Tommy.  But  don't  be  gone  any  longer 
than  you  can  help,"  she  said. 

It  was  Wednesday,  and  father  declared  he  would  hurry 
back  just  as  soon  as  possible.  He  went  out  in  the  yard 
where  Mother  was  at  work.  He  was  jovial. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          195 

"A  fine  work  you  are  doing,  mother.  But  you  have  a 
big  job  on  hand.  How  long  will  it  take  to  finish  it?" 

"Three  days,  at  the  least,"  she  answered,  vigorously 
shaking  a  rug. 

"Well,  if  any  one  calls  for  me,  I  am  up  at  the  River. 
I  have  to  go  up  there  to  visit  some  sick  people." 

She  regarded  him  closely  for  a  moment,  and  went  on 
shaking  the  rug. 

Between  Margaret  and  Mother  as  housekeeper  during 
those  first  few  days,  I  would  have  chosen  Margaret  with 
alacrity.  The  way  Mother  scattered  things  about  was 
a  nightmare.  And  when  father  started  off  to  the  River 
appointment,  I  also  slunk  out  to  the  grindstone  to  work 
on  my  drill. 

But  she  espied  me  just  when  I  counted  myself  safe. 

"Bennie,  you  come  here  and  help  beat  this  rug." 

I  went  back  reluctantly,  and  went  to  work. 

My,  those  days  that  followed!  Most  of  the  furniture 
piled  out  in  the  yard;  not  a  rug  in  the  house,  except  in 
mother's  room,  but  was  taken  out  and  beaten.  The 
bedding  was  out  in  the  sun  to  air;  floors  were  mopped 
up;  and  last  of  all  an  enormous  washing  done!  Then 
the  process  of  rehabilitation  was  begun.  O,  Mother  was 
thorough ! 

But  by  Saturday  morning  everything  was  straightened 
up.  The  living  room  was  clean  and  fresh;  the  kitchen 
was  immaculate ;  even  the  little  storage  room  was  in  per- 
fect order.  The  windows  were  open,  and  the  white  cur- 
tains were  fanned  by  the  fresh  breezes.  It  was  then  that 
I  decided  Mother  was  a  better  housekeeper  than  Mar- 
garet. 

Along  in  the  forenoon  father  came  back  from  the 
River.  All  the  sick  people  were  getting  on  nicely,  and 
his  spirits  were  high.  And  late  that  afternoon  he  started 
for  Oakumi  Mills  for  Sunday. 


196          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

Saturday  evening  Mother  finished  the  supper  dishes 
and  put  everything  in  order.  She  seemed  very  happy  and 
contented.  Along  about  dusk  she  lit  the  lamp  on  the 
reading  table.  She  had  boiled  the  burner  and  scoured 
the  globe,  and  it  gave  a  bright  cheerful  light.  She  got 
her  knitting  and  settled  comfortably  for  the  evening. 

That  was  the  time  I  had  been  looking  forward  to. 
Margaret  and  I  went  over  and  sat  down  close  to  her. 

"Tell  us  a  story,  Mother,"  I  implored. 

"Do,  Mother,"  Margaret  seconded. 

"What  will  I  tell  you  about?3' 

Her  voice  was  soft  and  purring. 

"Anything.    Just  anything !" 

"About  eagles?" 

I  thrilled. 

"Yes.    Eagles,  or  bears,  or  anything." 

"Or  fairies." 

"Or  wildcats  or  catamounts." 

"Or  princes." 

Her  knitting  needles  flew  rapidly  around  the  heel  of 
a  heavy  yarn  sock.  Her  face  wore  a  look  of  deep  re- 
pose and  contentment. 

"Well,  well,  now.  Let  me  see.  I'll  tell  you  about 
Dead  Man's  Cave,  and  what  became  of  your  Uncle  Rob- 
ert. Will  that  do?" 

"Do  tell  us,"  we  both  exclaimed  at  once. 

And  she  began  the  tale.  I  had  heard  something  about 
it  before,  but  had  forgotten  how  it  came  out. 

"Well,  it  was  a  long  time  ago.  We  lived  a  long  way 
up  the  river  then,  and  your  Uncle  Robert  was  just  a 
year  older  than  I.  He  had  a  very  close  friend,  whose 
name  was  Harry  Duffield.  Now,  neither  Harry  nor  your 
Uncle  Robert  had  ever  been  out  in  the  world,  and  they 
wanted  to  go.  A  drummer  from  the  city  had  stopped 
at  our  place  over  night  once,  and  had  told  them  many 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         197 

things  about  the  life  out  there.  They  could  get  a  dollar 
a  day  for  work;  and  people  wore  good  clothes  all  the 
time.  They  wore  white  collars  every  day.  And  from  the 
time  he  was  there,  they  had  wanted  to  go  away.  They 
began  to  save  up  their  money,  and  at  last  they  had 
enough  to  start  on. 

"Away  back  in  the  mountains  from  where  we  lived, 
an  old  Indian  lived  alone  in  a  little  cabin.  His  name  was 
Nigro.  When  his  people  had  gone  on  out  west,  he  had 
refused  to  go  along,  and  had  remained  behind,  living  all 
alone  in  his  little  cabin. 

"He  was  tall  and  brown.  He  seldom  wore  any  clothes 
above  his  waist,  and  his  lean  brown  body  was  bare  from 
the  waist  up.  His  nose  flattened  out  on  his  face,  and 
his  long  black  hair  fell  in  oily  curls  about  his  head. 
We  never  knew  just  what  he  did  for  a  living,  except 
that  he  trapped  a  lot  in  the  winter  time,  and  took  people 
down  the  river  in  his  canoe  in  the  summer. 

"When  Harry  and  your  Uncle  Robert  were  ready  to 
go  out  into  the  world,  they  hired  old  Nigro  to  take  them 
down  to  the  Kanawha.  It  was  a  long  trip,  and  he  charged 
a  lot,  for  when  he  should  come  back  up  the  river  alone 
he  would  have  to  wade  up  the  shoals  and  drag  the  canoe. 
But  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting  down,  so  they 
had  to  get  him. 

"My,  my,  I  did  not  want  Robert  to  go  away.  He  was 
just  a  year  older  than  I  was,  and  he  was  that  cheerful 
with  his  happy  blue  eyes.  We  had  been  together  as 
far  back  as  I  could  remember,  and  the  thought  of  losing 
him  made  me  sick  and  lonely. 

"And  then  there  was  Harry.  We  were  both  seven- 
teen, and  he  had  been  coming  to  our  house  a  lot.  He 
and  I ' 

"But,  Mother,  how  could  Robert  be  my  Uncle  if  he 
was  your  brother?"  I  interrupted. 


198         The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"He  was  your  Great  Uncle,  but  we  just  called  him 
Uncle,"  she  explained. 

"Well,  they  started.  I  can  remember  yet  just  how  it 
looked  the  morning  they  went  away.  We  had  got  up 
very  early.  The  ground  out  by  the  river  was  damp  from 
the  heavy  dew.  The  river  was  grey  and  still.  The  fog 
had  just  lifted,  but  everything  was  still  damp.  The  dew 
was  heavy  on  the  big  water  birches  that  grew  by  the 
river,  and  it  kept  falling  into  the  water  with  big  heavy 
splashes. 

"And  then  they  shoved  the  canoe  off.  Old  Nigro  sat 
about  the  centre,  and  just  back  of  him  was  their  bag- 
gage, covered  over  with  a  black  oilcloth.  Harry  sat  in  the 
back,  and  Robert  up  front.  They  waved  us  good-bye, 
and  Nigro  paddled  away. 

"They  were  to  take  their  time  going  down.  Your 
Uncle  Robert  loved  to  fish,  and  they  had  decided  to  stop 
whenever  they  felt  like  it,  and  camp  and  fish  for  a  few 
days.  And  there  were  good  places  to  fish  down  that 
way. 

"Nigro  did  not  care  how  long  they  stopped,  for  he 
was  getting  his  board  free,  and  that  was  about  all  he  ever 
seemed  to  care  about.  So  when  they  came  to  a  place 
where  the  fishing  looked  good,  your  Uncle  Robert  would 
tell  him  to  stop,  and  they  would  land  and  camp  there  as 
long  as  they  felt  like  it.  One  day  they  were  in  the  canoe 
and  Nigro  was  paddling  rapidly  along,  when  your  Uncle 
Robert  saw  a  place  that  looked  like  a  very  good  spot  to 
camp,  and  the  river  looked  deep  and  inviting. 

"  'How  is  that,  Nigro  ?  A  good  place  to  try  our  luck, 
I  am  thinking.  Suppose  you  pull  in.' 

"Contrary  to  his  usual  good-natured  obedience,  Nigro 
paid  no  heed,  but  paddled  stolidly  on  as  though  he  had 
not  heard. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          199 

"  'Did  you  hear,  Nigro  ?  I  said  that  was  a  good  place 
to  put  in.' 

"Nigro  half  turned  in  his  seat  until  he  faced  the  land- 
ing. He  looked  at  it  intently,  and  then  slowly  lifted  his 
eyes  until  they  rested  on  a  great  crag  that  jutted  out 
from  the  mountain-side  in  a  curious  resemblance  to  the 
upper  part  of  a  human  skull.  His  eyes  shifted  uneasily, 
and  he  faced  squarely  down  the  stream. 

"  'That  Dead  Man's  Cave.  Me  no  stop,'  he  said 
shortly. 

"  'But  I  say  you  will  stop,'  your  Uncle  Robert  said, 
rising. 

"The  Indian  paid  no  heed  whatever.  Your  Uncle 
laid  his  hand  on  the  paddle.  Nigro  turned  swiftly  in  his 
seat  until  he  faced  about.  His  body  was  bare  from  the 
waist  up,  and  under  his  copper-coloured  skin  his  muscles 
tightened.  He  fixed  upon  Robert  a  look  of  steady  men- 
acing resolve. 

"  'That  Dead  Man's  Cave.    Me  no  stop/ 

"  'Better  let  him  go  on,  Bob,'  Harry  said  nervously. 
'Plenty  of  good  places  farther  down.' 

"  'O,  all  right,  if  he  wants  to  act  that  way  about  it,' 
and  he  sat  down." 

I  liked  the  way  Mother  told  her  stories.  She  would 
get  so  interested  herself  that  she  tried  to  make  her  voice 
sound  like  the  people  she  was  telling  about ;  and  she  would 
use  big  words  without  stopping  to  tell  us  what  they 
meant.  Father  would  sometimes  tell  us  stories,  but  when 
he  used  a  big  word  he  would  ask  us  if  we  knew  what  it 
meant.  Of  course  we  did  not,  and  he  would  stop  so 
long  to  explain  its  meaning  that  we  forgot  a  lot  of  the 
story.  But  not  so  with  Mother,  and  while  we  did  not 
always  know  what  the  words  meant  she  used,  we  could 
easily  understand  what  she  was  saying.  So  she  went 
on. 


200          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Well,  that  night  they  camped  a  mile  or  two  further 
down  the  river.  After  they  had  eaten  their  supper,  your 
Uncle  and  Harry  were  alone. 

"  'What  did  you  think  of  the  old  boy  up  there  ?*  your 
Uncle  asked.  He  had  been  much  mystified  by  the  way 
Nigro  had  acted. 

"  'Don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Little  off  up  here, 
I  guess/  he  answered,  tapping  his  forehead  significantly. 

"  'Never  heard  of  it  before.  What  do  you  say  we 
pump  him  about  it?' 

"  'He  looked  mighty  all-fired  solemn  when  you  spoke 
to  him  about  it  up  there.  You  know,  Bob,  we  can't 
afford  to  contrary  him  now/ 

"  'I  know  we  can't.  But  I'm  going  to  find  out  what 
he  got  so  uppish  about,  just  the  same/ 

"  'Better  go  easy.  They  are  treacherous,  those  In- 
dians/ 

"  'Never  you  fear/ 

"It  was  not  long  before  your  Uncle  got  a  chance  to 
speak  with  Nigro. 

"  'By  the  way,  Nigro,  what's  this  about  that  Dead 
Man's  Cave?' 

"  'It  just  that,  Dead  Man's  Cave.    Men  die/ 

"  'What  do  you  mean,  that  men  die.  Is  there  some 
one  there  that  kills  them?  Speak  out,  man/ 

"  'Indian  go,  him  no  come  back.  White  man  go,  him 
no  come  back.  It  Dead  Man's  Cave.' 

"And  that  was  absolutely  all  he  would  say. 

"Robert's  curiosity  was  aroused.  He  had  heard  of 
Indian  superstition  before,  but  he  had  never  known  a 
concrete  case  of  it.  Evidently  the  Indians  had  made  up 
some  legend  about  the  mountain,  and  it  had  got  such  a 
hold  upon  them  that  they  had  come  to  believe  it. 

"And  he  meant  to  look  into  the  matter.  Partly  be- 
cause he  was  curious,  and  partly  also  because  he  was 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          201 

vexed  with  Nigro  and  wanted  to  show  his  superstition 
groundless. 

"  'I'm  going  up  there  and  see  what  there  is  in  it,'  he 
said  to  Harry,  bright  the  next  morning. 

"  'What's  the  use  to  get  worked  up  over  it  ?  Fishing's 
good  here.' 

"  'O,  I'm  just  curious.    Come  along?' 

"  'No.  I  saw  the  bass  jumping  out  in  that  deep  hole 
there.  Guess  this  spot  is  good  enough  for  me.' 

"  'Maybe  Nigro  will  go.' 

"  'Better  not  try  him/  and  Harry  smiled. 

"But  your  Uncle  did  try  him. 

"  'Nigro,  I  am  going  up  on  Dead  Man's  Cave  this 
morning.  Want  to  go  along?' 

"He  looked  at  Robert  a  long  time,  showing  great  emo- 
tion. He  came  over  and  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
Robert  had  never  seen  him  so  moved  before. 

"  'Him  good  father.     You  no  come  back.     Not  go.' 

"  'Sure  my  father's  all  right,  but  I'll  come  back.  Have 
the  fish  fried  brown,  Harry,'  and  he  hurried  down  to 
the  river. 

"He  untied  the  canoe  and  pushed  off.  Harry  watched 
him  paddle  easily  up  the  river  and  turn  the  bend.  Then 
he  was  lost  from  sight. 

"Harry  fished  for  an  hour  or  more  in  the  deep  pool 
under  the  shade  of  the  mountain,  and  with  good  luck. 
Five  great  black  perch  and  a  blue  cat.  And  as  the  sun 
peeped  up  over  the  mountain  and  lit  up  the  blue  depths, 
he  strolled  slowly  up  to  the  camp. 

"  'Cook  'em  brown,  Nigro.  Bob  will  be  starved  after 
climbing  that  hill.' 

"But  at  dinner  time  your  Uncle  Robert  had  not  re- 
turned. They  waited  one  hour,  then  two,  three.  Still 
he  was  not  back,  and  they  ate  their  meal  in  silence. 


202          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"  'Guess  he's  old  enough  to  take  care  of  himself,'  said 
Harry  easily. 

"  'Him  no  come  back.  Dead  Man's  Cave,'  answered 
Nigro  stolidly. 

"  'Nonsense,  Nigro.  You  have  that  cave  on  your 
brain,'  for  Harry  was  plainly  irritated. 

"But  when  evening  came  on  and  Robert  had  not  re- 
turned, he  was  plainly  uneasy. 

"  'Of  course  there's  nothing  to  the  Indian's  cave  story, 
but  something  must  be  wrong.  Bob  likes  fried  fish  too 
well  to  stay  away  all  this  time,'  and  he  smiled. 

"He  sat  up  until  long  in  the  night,  and  his  pipe  made 
a  solitary  glow  in  the  darkness  by  the  river.  He  looked 
up  at  the  mountains  around  him,  the  mountains  silent 
and  mysterious,  their  sides  covered  with  trees  that  did 
not  so  much  as  stir.  He  listened  to  the  distant  murmur 
of  the  shoals.  And  he  felt  very  much  alone  and  lonely. 
Off  up  the  river  to  his  left  he  heard  the  loud  shrill  cry 
of  a  wildcat.  The  air  became  chill,  and  the  dew  lay  heav- 
ily about  him.  There  was  a  rustle  behind  him  and  he 
jerked  quickly  about.  It  was  only  some  night  thing. 

"  'Pshaw.  I'm  getting  fidgety  as  an  old  woman,'  he 
exclaimed. 

"He  got  up  and  shook  himself  impatiently  and  went 
to  bed. 

"The  next  morning  he  went  to  Nigro  impatiently. 

"  'Now  see  here,  if  you  know  anything  about  that  cave 
that  you  have  not  told  us,  it's  time  you  out  with  it.' 

"Nigro  threw  up  his  hands.  He  had  evidently  passed 
a  restless  night.  His  face  was  drawn  and  deep  leathery 
wrinkles  had  appeared  above  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  'No  one  come  back.    Me  no  tell,'  he  said  desperately. 

"  'Well,  I  know  one  that  will  go  and  come  back,'  and 
-Harry  started  off  toward  the  river. 

"To  his  surprise  Nigro  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          203 

And  his  grip  was  so  tight  that  his  fingers  sunk  into  the 
flesh  and  made  Harry  wince. 

"  'You  no  go,'  he  implored. 

"  'Go  hell/  Harry  returned  fiercely.  'Do  you  think  I 
will  sit  around  here  without  trying  to  find  out  what  is 
the  matter?'  and  again  he  made  off. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Nigro  had  a  little  dog  along 
with  him,"  Mother  explained  suddenly.  "Yes,  he  never 
went  anywhere  without  that  little  dog." 

"Was  he  as  big  as  Ponto  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  not  quite.  He  was  little  and  yellow."  She 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  sighed.  Then  she  settled  her- 
self more  comfortably,  and  her  knitting  needles  flew 
around  each  other. 

"Well,  Harry  took  the  little  dog  and  set  out  up  the 
river.  What  had  kept  Robert  away?  he  asked  himself 
over  and  over.  He  could  have  no  object  whatever  in 
staying  away  so  long.  But  what  had  happened?  Was 
there,  after  all,  some  truth  in  the  legend  of  Dead  Man's 
Cave?  Was  it  superstition,  or  was  there  some  secret, 
terrible  and  bloody,  up  there  at  the  dead-head  crag? 

"Just  before  he  turned  the  bend  in  the  river  he  looked 
back  toward  the  little  camp.  Old  Nigro,  tall  and  bare 
from  his  waist,  stood  by  the  water's  edge,  his  arms 
folded,  looking  intently  after  him.  He  looked  sombre  and 
prophetic  as  he  stood  there  watching.  It  was  as  if  he 
were  saying  good-bye. 

"When  Harry  reached  the  place  where  Robert  had 
wanted  to  stop  on  the  way  down,  he  found  the  canoe, 
securely  tied  to  the  root  of  a  water  birch.  It  had  swung 
around  against  the  bank,  and  had  evidently  been  in  that 
position  for  a  long  time.  There  was  something  terribly 
suggestive  about  it. 

"Harry  looked  at  it  a  moment,  examined  the  rope  with 
which  it  was  tied,  rose,  and  looked  slowly  up  at  the  moun- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

tain.  Layer  upon  layer  it  reared  its  mighty  bulk,  cov- 
ered by  an  uneven  growth  of  pine;  up  and  up  and  up 
to  the  very  summit,  where  towered  Dead  Man's  Cave, 
which,  with  an  inscrutable  smile,  seemed  to  be  keeping 
death-watch  over  the  surrounding  hills.  The  indescrib- 
able grandeur  of  the  lonely  place  filled  him  with  awe  and 
dread  in  spite  of  himself.  But  he  snapped  to  his  dog 
and  started  up. 

"For  an  hour  they  climbed,  over  fallen  trees  and  un- 
even rocks,  now  slipping  in  the  moist  loose  soil,  now 
balancing  dangerously  on  the  loose  stones.  They  reached 
the  summit.  The  dog  was  running  importantly  here 
and  there,  smelling  at  the  roots  of  trees  and  sniffing 
curiously  in  holes.  But  as  they  began  to  go  out  toward 
Dead  Man's  Cave,  he  came  up  to  Harry,  and  the  two 
went  along  together.  And  together  they  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  Cave. 

"The  sight  that  met  their  eyes  was  terrible.  Bones — 
on  all  sides,  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  bones.  Bones  of 
animals,  and  bones  of  men.  Dead  Man's  Cave  was  real. 
The  dog  sniffed  the  bones  curiously,  and  trotted  into  the 
cave.  While  Harry  stood  looking  about  him  with  a  hor- 
rible fear  and  nausea  stealing  over  him,  the  dog  returned. 
It  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  looked  over  toward 
the  river,  turned  and  whined  piteously.  Then  it  fell  over 
in  a  paroxysm.  Harry  stood  and  watched  in  a  daze. 
The  dog  kicked  out  jerkily,  rolled  over  and  over,  then 
threw  back  its  head  and  gasped.  In  another  moment  it 
was  dead. 

"Harry  felt  a  cold  sweat  breaking  out  all  over  him. 
He  looked  around  him  in  panic,  and  felt  a  strong  desire 
to  break  and  run.  But  by  an  effort  he  pulled  himself 
together  and  peered  into  the  cave.  A  few  feet  ahead  of 
him  he  saw  a  familiar  shape.  Something  recognisable 
lay  sprawled  out  on  the  floor  of  the  cave.  He  approached 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          205 

it  cautiously,  his  eyes  not  quite  accustomed  to  the  dim 
light.  He  was  right.  It  was  your  Uncle  Robert.  He 
was  dead." 

Mother  stopped  for  a  moment.  With  a  vacant  look  in 
her  eyes  she  sat  rocking  to  and  fro.  I  was  wildly  curi- 
ous. 

"And  then?"  I  prompted. 

"O!"  she  said. 

"Well,  and  then  he  was  seized  with  panic.  He  backed 
out  of  the  cave  and  looked  about  him  desperately.  But 
nothing  was  in  sight.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  and  then 
stepped  resolutely  back  into  the  cave.  Walking  cau- 
tiously, he  reached  the  body  of  your  Uncle  Robert.  He 
stopped  and  listened  intently. 

"And  then  he  heard  a  noise.  It  was  a  gliding,  writhing 
sound,  as  of  wet  leaves  being  torn  apart.  Then  he  saw 
and  sprang  back.  He  had  seen  what  it  was." 

"And  what  was  it?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"A  den  of  copperheads." 

"And  did  they  get  him?" 

"No,  but  they  got  your  Uncle  Robert." 

"Was  he  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  was  dead." 

"And  what  did  he  do  to  the  snakes?" 

"He  filled  the  cave  with  brush  and  set  fire  to  it." 

"Were  they  killed?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

For  a  long  time  she  was  silent,  rocking  to  and  fro. 
Her  knitting  was  forgotten.  I  sat  pondering.  She 
sighed. 

"Did  Harry  go  on  to  the  Kanawha?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"No,  he  came  back  home." 

"And  what  did  he  do  then  ?" 

She  brightened,  looked  at  us  happily,  and  smiled. 

"O!    He  is  your  grandfather!" 


Chapter  17 

BY  the  end  of  the  second  winter,  I  had  got  used  to 
Hen's  being  away.  At  first  it  had  been  hard.  When 
I  went  to  school  by  myself,  I  missed  him  dreadfully. 
And  when  I  went  up  on  the  hill  alone  after  fodder,  I 
got  very  lonesome.  Besides,  I  had  to  make  two  trips 
after  fodder,  where,  when  he  had  been  at  home,  I  had 
made  only  one.  But  as  the  second  winter  wore  away, 
I  got  used  to  doing  the  work  myself  and  really  didn't 
think  much  about  him  any  more. 

But  one  beautiful  spring  day  father  announced  that 
Hen  was  coming  home.  I  thought  I  had  grown  quite  in- 
different to  him.  But  when  father  said  he  was  coming 
home  I  felt  greatly  elated.  And  a  few  days  later,  when 
I  got  on  Bird  and  tied  old  Bill's  halter  to  the  horn  of 
my  saddle  and  started  to  meet  him,  I  was  all  eager- 
ness. I  wanted  to  see  Hen. 

If  I  had  not  been  bothered  by  old  Bill,  I  would  have 
looked  forward  to  the  ride  to  Monroe.  But  it  was  not 
very  much  fun  to  ride  with  old  Bill  pulling  along  behind. 
Whenever  Bird  broke  into  a  trot  he  lagged  along  behind, 
stretching  out  his  neck  and  pulling  back,  trotting  only 
when  he  had  to  in  order  to  keep  up,  and  even  then 
jogging  along  in  a  lazy  ambling  way.  Once  or  twice  I 
cut  him  over  the  neck  with  my  switch,  hoping  to  stir 
him  up  in  that  way,  but  he  only  pulled  back  the  harder 
and  shied  off  to  get  out  of  reach.  And  when  he  did  that 

206 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          207 

the  halter  sawed  so  over  my  leg  that  I  gave  up  in 
despair. 

But  it  was  a  great  trip,  aside  from  that.  In  many 
places  men  were  out  burning  brush  on  the  hillsides  they 
had  cleared  during  the  winter,  and  as  I  passed  along  I 
could  see  the  brush  heaps  burning,  the  green  limbs  curl- 
ing and  singing  as  they  burned.  Occasionally  when  a 
half  burned  heap  fell  in,  the  red  flames  shot  up  and 
little  white  flakes  of  ashes  floated  lazily  in  the  air. 

The  road  lay  along  the  creek  in  many  places,  and  by 
many  deep  holes  boys  were  sitting,  holding  big  crooked 
poles  in  their  hands  and  waiting  vainly  for  a  bite.  Old 
rusty  bait  cans  and  charred  logs  were  scattered  about 
profusely.  Sometimes  the  boys  looked  at  me  in  silence 
as  I  rode  by.  And  at  one  shallow  hole  a  little  fellow 
not  more  than  nine  had  just  got  a  bite,  and  was  sitting 
tense  and  eager,  holding  his  pole  in  readiness. 

I  rode  along  by  fences,  and  more  than  once  fat  grey 
squirrels  jumped  off  the  ground  with  a  great  chattering, 
looking  at  me  nervously  for  a  moment,  and  then  went 
tearing  away  down  the  fence,  their  big  bushy  tails  stream- 
ing out  behind  them.  And  often  on  the  lower  rails  little 
brown  chipmunks  sat  up  on  their  haunches,  alert  but 
motionless. 

I  passed  by  one  place  where  they  were  having  a  log- 
rolling, and  men  from  far  and  near  were  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  field.  The  trees  had  been  cut  and  trimmed 
up.  Boys  were  dragging  the  limbs  and  piling  them  in 
heaps  to  be  burned;  men  with  long  handspikes  were 
rolling  the  logs  together.  I  stopped  for  a  moment  to 
watch  a  giant  young  fellow  try  to  roll  a  big  log  alone. 
There  must  have  been  some  bet  up,  for  the  others  did 
not  offer  to  help  him,  but  crowded  around  to  watch.  He 
went  up,  cleared  the  dirt  from  under  the  log  so  he  could 
get  his  handspike  under,  and  then  bent  his  shoulder  to 


208  The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

it.  Setting  his  feet,  with  legs  slightly  apart,  he  began 
to  lift.  His  great  shoulders  humped  up  as  his  legs  began 
to  straighten  out.  I  saw  his  face  get  red,  and  the  veins 
on  his  neck  stand  out.  But  slowly  the  log  moved,  and 
then  with  one  mighty  final  effort  he  snapped  his  body 
straight,  and  the  big  log  rolled  clumsily  down  the  hill. 

"Fine  work,  that,  Bill,"  a  number  cried,  and  turned  to 
their  work. 

But  I  did  not  stop  long.  I  was  too  eager  to  get  to 
Monroe.  Monroe  was  a  little  place,  father  said,  com- 
pared to  the  cities  where  there  were  as  many  as  seven- 
teen telephone  wires  on  the  poles,  but  it  was  a  wonderful 
place  to  me.  The  board  sidewalk  was  wonderful.  It  was 
that  above  all  things  that  impressed  me.  I  loved  to  walk 
on  it.  Hen  had  written  that  it  was  easy  to  keep  step 
with  any  one  on  a  board  walk,  because  he  could  hear 
his  feet  as  they  struck  the  boards.  I  was  barefooted,  but 
I  could  walk  on  it  just  the  same,  and  I  wanted  to  try  to 
imagine  how  it  would  sound  if  I  did  have  shoes  on  and 
were  trying  to  keep  step  with  some  one. 

But  I  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  When  I  got 
within  a  few  miles  of  town  I  met  Hen.  He  had  got 
there  before  me,  and  had  not  waited,  but  knowing  by 
which  road  I  would  come  in,  had  started  out  to  meet  me. 
He  was  carrying  his  suit  case,  and  it  seemed  heavy,  for 
he  was  all  pulled  over  to  one  side.  But  when  he  saw  me 
he  yelled  out. 

"Hello,  Ben." 

"Hello,"  I  answered,  forgetting  any  disappointment  at 
not  getting  in  to  town. 

Hjen  had  changed  someway.  He  had  grown  a  lot,  and 
was  much  taller  than  when  he  had  left  home.  But 
it  was  not  that  altogether.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  long 
pants,  his  shoes  were  neat,  and  there  seemed  to  be  an 
.air  about  him  that  had  not  been  there  when  he  left  home. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          209 

His  hair  was  cut,  and  that  made  a  big  difference.  Father 
had  always  cut  our  hair,  and  while  he  never  failed  'to 
get  it  off,  it  often  looked  funny  when  he  got  through. 
But  Hen's  was  even  and  neat.  Hen  always  had  looked 
different  from  the  other  boys,  but  he  looked  more  so 
now. 

He  seemed  very  eager  to  get  started  back  home.  He 
tied  the  suit  case  on  old  Bill's  saddle,  got  on  himself,  and 
we  started  briskly  back. 

"How  is  every  one  at  home?"  he  asked. 

"Fine.  Ed  Rainey  got  his  leg  broke  by  a  log  rolling 
on  him,  but  he  is  better  now." 

"What  work  did  you  have  in  school  this  year  ?" 

"O,  same  old  things.  Arithmetic,  Fifth  Reader  and 
Grammar." 

"Did  you  like  the  new  teacher?" 

"You  bet !  He  took  me  up  home  with  him  over  Sun- 
day once." 

"How  does  he  teach  the  school?" 

"O,  he  just  teaches.  But  he's  not  hard  like  Aaron  Wil- 
let.  He  Says  scholars  must  look  off  their  books  at  times 
because  they  can't  stand  it  to  study  all  the  time." 

"Does  he  whip  the  scholars  any?" 

"Some.  He  whipped  Bill  Hunter  and  Charlie  Snow- 
den  hard  once  for  waylaying  Minnie  McRand  and  rock- 
ing her." 

"Did  they  get  mad  ?" 

"Some.     How  did  you  like  your  school?" 

"It  was  fine." 

"Did  they  let  out  at  four?" 

"They  didn't  do  that  way.  You  just  came  and  re- 
cited, and  then  went  back  home." 

"Didn't  you  have  to  stay  in  the  schoolhouse  and 
study?" 

"No,  we  just  went  there  to  recite.     The  last  class  I 


210          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

had  was  physics.    It  came  at  two  and  lasted  till  three." 

"Physics?    What's  that?" 

"O,  that  tells  you  why  water  won't  go  up  when  you 
pour  it  out  of  a  bucket,  and  things  like  that." 

This  was  a  poser  for  me.  Of  course  I  knew  that  water 
would  go  down  to  the  ground,  but  I  never  had  thought 
what  made  it  do  it.  I  had  supposed  it  just  fell.  I 
pondered  for  a  long  time. 

"Well,  why  is  it?" 

"The  law  of  gravitation." 

"Does  it  do  it?" 

"Sure.    Just  pulls  it  right  down." 

I  didn't  know  what  the  law  of  gravitation  was,  but 
the  explanation  was  entirely  satisfactory.  We  rode  on 
in  silence. 

It  was  nearly  dark  before  I  asked  a  question  that  had 
been  puzzling  me  for  a  long  time. 

"Where  will  we  stop  for  the  night,  Hen?" 

"We  won't  stop.    Go  on  home  to-night." 

I  was  very  tired,  but  I  was  willing  to  go  on  home. 
I  never  liked  to  stay  away  from  home  at  night.  It  was 
all  right  until  about  time  to  go  to  bed,  and  then  I  got 
terribly  homesick.  It  was  never  nice  to  sleep  away  from 
home. 

It  was  along  about  midnight  that  we  turned  the  bend 
and  came  in  sight  of  our  house.  We  couldn't  really  see 
the  house,  for  the  fog  was  thick  over  the  river,  and  it 
spread  up  around  our  house  like  white  soft  down.  But 
as  we  got  nearer  and  nearer,  the  outlines  of  the  house 
began  to  stand  out  indistinctly.  All  was  very  quiet. 

Old  Ponto  came  out  growling  as  we  approached.  But 
I  drew  my  breath  in  between  my  puckered  lips  in  a 
kind  of  low  squeak.  He  recognised  me  at  once  and 
commenced  to  bound  around,  whining  eagerly.  Then 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          211 

Hen  spoke  his  name,  and  Ponto  stopped  and  pricked 
up  his  ears. 

"Come  on,  Ponto,"  Hen  said  again  encouragingly,  as 
he  got  off  old  Bill. 

I  thought  Ponto  would  go  crazy.  He  ran  up  to  Hen, 
his  whole  body  writhing  and  undulating  from  side  to 
side,  and  his  tail  wagging  so  furiously  that  it  almost  lifted 
his  hind  feet  from  the  ground.  He  licked  Hen's  hands, 
jumped  up  impulsively  and  licked  his  face,  and  then 
started  running  in  little  circles  about  him,  jumping  up, 
turning,  and  keeping  up  a  series  of  little  yelps. 

"Nice  old  doggie,"  and  Hen  grabbed  him  and  hugged 
him.  Ponto  broke  loose  and  kept  up  his  general  ju- 
bilations. 

The  door  opened  quickly,  and  a  flash  of  white  ap- 
peared. Just  a  moment  it  lingered,  peering  eagerly  for- 
ward, and  then  it  made  straight  for  Hen.  I  was  amazed, 
for  we  had  made  but  very  little  noise.  When  Hen  had 
talked  to  Ponto  it  had  been  in  an  undertone.  But  there 
mother  stood,  her  arms  about  Hen,  clinging  to  him  as 
though  she  would  never  let  loose. 

Again  I  felt  the  old  pang  of  jealousy.  Mother  seemed 
to  think  more  of  Hen  than  she  did  of  me.  And  again  I 
wished  that  I  might  go  away,  far  away,  and  be  in  great 
peril.  But  even  as  I  thought,  mother  broke  away  from 
Hen,  stood  limply  for  a  moment,  and  started  toward  the 
door  sobbing.  I  was  amazed,  but  in  some  way  I  at- 
tributed it  to  Hen. 

"What  did  you  do?"  I  demanded  fiercely. 

"Nothing,"  Hen  answered  nonplussed. 

As  she  reached  the  door  father  appeared.  He  saw 
her  and  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"Here,  here,  honey.  You  are  all  upset,"  he  said  sooth- 
ingly. 

"O,  Tommy,  it's  too  good  to  be  true,"  she  sobbed. 


212          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

For  a  long  time  we  sat  up  before  going  to  bed.  A 
single  lamp  was  burning  in  the  room,  and  near  it  Hen 
sat.  Mother  sat  a  little  distance  from  him,  looking  at 
him  tenderly,  her  eyes  -resting  on  every  movement  of 
his  face  as  he  talked  proudly  of  his  work  in  school. 
And  father  walked  around  aimlessly,  running  his  fingers 
through  his  hair  and  saying,  "Pshaw,"  "Well,  I  declare," 
and  things  like  that,  to  no  one  in  particular. 

And  when  at  last  Hen  and  I  went  off  to  bed,  mother 
followed  and  helped  him  off  with  his  clothes,  taking 
his  collar  from  him  as  he  took  it  off  his  neck,  pulling 
his  shirt-sleeve  down  over  his  hand.  It  was  warm,  but 
when  we  got  into  bed  she  hovered  around,  asking 
whether  he  wanted  another  cover,  and  if  he  felt  per- 
fectly comfortable. 

And  I  was  bitter  with  resentment.  I  remembered 
a  story  father  had  told  in  a  sermon,  of  a  prodigal  son 
who  had  gone  away  and  had  a  fine  time,  and  spent  lots 
of  money,  and  of  another  son  who  had  staid  at  home  and 
done  all  the  work.  But  when  the  prodigal  came  back 
home,  every  one  made  over  him,  and  no  one  thought  of 
thanking  the  son  who  had  staid  at  home  and  worked  the 
farm.  I  thought  that  was  like  it  was  with  Hen  and 
me.  And  I  wished  fiercely  that  I  could  go  away  and 
come  back  home  and  have  everybody  making  over  me. 

The  next  morning  we  had  a  late  breakfast.  Mother 
had  been  in  the  kitchen  a  long  time  when  Hen  and  I  got 
up.  It  was  her  moving  about  that  had  wakened  us.  I 
got  out  of  bed  and  slipped  into  my  old  blue  shirt  and 
brown  pants  that  mother  had  made  me.  I  watched 
Hen  closely,  for  I  wondered  whether  he  would  put  on 
his  store  clothes.  But  he  didn't.  He  put  on  an  old  pair 
of  pants  that  mother  had  made  him,  too. 

"Putting  on  your  old  britches,  Hen?"  I  asked. 

"You  don't  want  to  say  britches,  Ben.    It's  breeches." 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          2ia 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  learned  that  over  at  school.  No  one  said  britches 
there." 

He  put  them  on,  any  way,  and  we  tumbled  out  to  the 
kitchen.  Mother  was  fussing  about  the  stove,  very  bus- 
ily engaged.  She  soon  called  out  that  all  was  ready. 

Father  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  mother  at  the 
other  end.  Hen  and  I  sat  on  one  side.  Margaret  was 
alone  on  the  other.  Father  returned  thanks  in  his  most 
awful  voice,  and  after  saying  all  that  he  usually  said, 
he  thanked  God  that  he  had  kept  our  ranks  unbroken. 
I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  by  our  ranks,  and  couldn't 
see  how  a  rank  could  be  broken,  for  we  usually  called 
things  rank  when  they  had  a  terrible  smell.  But  mother 
seemed  to  understand,  for  she  said  "Amen"  under  hep 
breath  when  father  finished. 

We  had  big  hot  soft  biscuits,  baked  with  buttermilk, 
and  fresh  cane  molasses,  and  bacon  and  eggs.  And  there 
was  a  great  plenty  for  all  of  us.  I  thought  then  that 
it  was  nice,  even  if  it  was  all  done  for  Hen,  because  I  got 
just  as  much  to  eat  as  he  did.  And  when  we  went  out 
behind  the  house  after  breakfast,  I  was  tickled  still  more, 
for  there  was  a  chicken's  head  by  the  wood-block. 

Hen  and  I  wandered  about  the  place  for  a  long  time. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  the  stable  and  look  round,  and  go 
up  on  the  hill  and  see  the  corn  field,  and  down  to  the 
creek  and  see  whether  the  bank  swallows  had  built  their 
nests  in  holes  dug  in  the  creek  bank.  We  went  down 
to  the  river  and  looked  at  the  cut-off,  and  went  out  on  a 
big  log-raft  and  sat  down  with  our  feet  in  the  water.  But 
at  last  he  said  he  thought  he  would  go  up  to  the  store. 
I  wanted  to  get  a  fish  hook  and  see  whether  I  couldn't 
catch  some  of  the  big  fish  we  saw  swimming  under  the 
raft,  so  I  did  not  go  with  him. 

Margaret  was  out  in  the  yard  when  I  went  up  after 


214          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

the  fish  hook.  She  had  grown  very  tall  the  last  year  or 
two,  and  while  she  was  very  slim,  she  nevertheless  looked 
very  plump  and  round.  Before  Hen  had  gone  away  to 
school,  Margaret  and  I  had  not  gone  around  together 
much,  because  I  always  went  with  Hen.  But  when  he 
left,  Margaret  got  to  going  places  with  me,  and  we  had 
come  to  be  very  great  friends.  She  did  not  make  fun 
of  the  things  I  said  and  did,  as  Hen  had  always  done. 
So  I  told  her  many  things  that  I  had  never  thought  of 
telling  him.  How,  for  instance,  I  wanted  to  set  up  a 
store,  and  be  a  big  storekeeper  when  I  grew  up ;  or  how 
I  meant  to  go  off  to  school  and  get  an  education  and 
come  back  and  be  a  big  man  in  Barren  Rocks,  like  old 
Alex  McRand,  or  Ash  Hayes.  She  always  heard  me 
seriously,  and  when  I  had  finished,  would  say  that  she 
knew  I  could  do  it,  and  that  she  would  be  very  proud 
of  me  when  the  time  came. 

And  then  she  would  tell  me  what  she  wanted  to  do. 
First  she  intended  to  have  a  big  millinery  store,  and  make 
beautiful  hats,  and  sell  them  to  fine  people.  And  she 
intended  to  save  up  a  lot  of  money  and  get  some  beauti- 
ful clothes  for  herself,  more  beautiful  than  anything  we 
had  ever  seen.  They  should  even  be  finer  than  the  pic- 
tures in  the  Journal  and  Messenger.  And  when  she  had 
everything  fixed  up,  she  would  be  sure  to  meet  some- 
body— some  fine  handsome  person,  like  father,  for  in- 
stance, only  young  and  cheerful. 

She  was  usually  very  indefinite  along  toward  the  end, 
as  though  she  had  not  thought  out  yet  just  how  every- 
thing should  end  up,  but  always  there  was  the  fine  hand- 
some somebody,  and  in  some  way  that  was  not  exactly 
clear  to  me,  everything  would  be  all  right  as  soon  as  he 
appeared. 

Because  we  had  got  to  be  such  good  friends,  I  liked 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         215 

to  have  her  with  me.  When  I  saw  her  out  in  the  yard, 
I  went  over. 

"Come  and  go  down  with  me  to  fish,  Margaret." 

"Where  is  Hen?" 

"Gone  to  the  store." 

"All  right.     Go  and  get  the  poles." 

Together  we  went  down.  I  caught  some  crickets  by 
turning  up  some  old  boards  and  stones  that  lay  near  the 
water,  and  putting  one  on  my  hook  I  let  it  sink  down 
between  the  logs.  For  a  long  time  I  sat  there,  waiting 
for  a  fish  to  bite,  but  I  felt  no  pull.  I  drew  up  the  hook, 
and  the  cricket  was  still  on,  with  the  water  dripping  off 
its  slim  glossy  legs.  I  lay  down  on  the  raft  and  looked 
down  between  the  logs.  Occasionally  I  could  see  a  big 
pink  sucker  swim  lazily  by.  But  when  I  dropped  the 
hook  back  in,  there  was  no  bite. 

I  got  discouraged  after  a  while,  and  laid  the  line  down 
on  the  log. 

"Guess  they  won't  bite." 

Margaret  was  sitting  on  the  upper  end  of  the  raft, 
her  feet  drawn  up  under  her,  looking  dreamily  off  up 
the  river.  When  I  went  up  to  her  she  did  not  move. 
She  seemed  to  be  looking  at  an  overhanging  water-birch 
away  up  the  river,  but  I  knew  from  the  far-off  expres- 
sion on  her  face  that  she  did  not  see  it. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Margaret?" 

"O,  just  thinking." 

"What  about?" 

"Ben,  do  you  know  Brooks  Hollingshead  ?"  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"Sure,  I  see  him  every  time  I  go  to  the  store." 

"Does  he  ever  say  anything  when  you  see  him?" 

"Sure  he  does.    He's  fine." 

"Did  you  see  him  at  church  Sunday?" 

"Sat  over  by  the  stove." 


216          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Did  you  notice  how  wavy  his  hair  is?" 

"Don't  like  curly  hair.  What  you  thinking  about 
him?" 

"O,  nothing.     Do  you  like  him?" 

"Sure.  We  all  like  him.  He  gives  us  peanuts  and 
cinnamon  bark." 

"And  did  you  notice  his  eyes?  how  nice  they  are?" 

"Eyes?     Where?" 

"At  church.  He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  looked 
around,  so,"  and  she  leaned  back  on  the  log  and  looked 
keenly  about. 

"More  like  this,"  and  I  tried  it. 

"After  the  service  he  came  up  to  father  and  talked 
to  him.  Father  introduced  me  to  him,"  she  added 
dreamily. 

"Did  he  shake  hands  with  you?"     I  wanted  to  know. 

"Yes,  like  this,"  and  she  took  my  hand  and  moved  it 
ever  so  slightly  up  and  down.  It  was  not  at  all  like  we 
shook  hands.  People  usually  took  each  others'  hands, 
gripped  them  tight  and  shook  them  up  and  down  vigor- 
ously. And  when  they  wanted  to  make  it  more  emphatic, 
they  would  shake  around  and  around. 

"Funny  way  to  shake  hands,"  I  said  meditatively.  I 
had  never  known  anything  like  it. 

"But  it  was  nice.  And  he  is  coming  down  to  see  us 
some  evening." 

"What  for?" 

"O,  he  said  he  wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  us.  He 
said  he  belonged  to  the  church  at  home,  and  wanted  to 
get  in  touch  with  this  one." 

"Where  is  his  home?" 

"In  Sistersville." 

"Maybe  Hen  knows  him." 

"Why,  so  he  might,"  said  Margaret,  springing  up  sud- 
denly. "Where  is  Hen?" 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          217 

"At  the  store.    What  do  you  want?" 

"Nothing.    Guess  I  will  go  back  to  the  house." 

That  night  at  supper  Hen  seemed  to  remember  some- 
thing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Brooks  Hollingshead  ?"  he 
asked  father. 

"A  fine,  promising  young  man,  I  should  say,"  father 
answered.  "Why?" 

"Knew  him  in  Sistersville.  In  school  last  year.  He's 
a  fine  fellow." 

"Is  his  home  there  ?"  mother  asked. 

"Yes.  I've  been  there.  Fine  big  house.  I  didn't  know 
he  was  here  until  I  stepped  into  the  store." 

"How  nice  that  you  know  him,"  mother  said. 

And  that  evening  Brooks  Hollingshead  came  down  to 
see  us.  Hen  was  out  at  the  gate  when  he  arrived ;  and 
the  two  talked  out  there  for  a  long  time.  I  had  always 
thought  that  Hen  was  the  most  handsome  man  around 
Barren  Rocks,  but  when  I  saw  him  and  Brooks  Hollings- 
head together,  I  was  not  so  sure.  Hen  was  fair,  and  his 
hair  was  a  light  brown.  He  had  nice  eyes,  and  was  big 
and  strong.  But  Brooks  was  different.  He  was  not  quite 
as  big  as  Hen,  but  he  was  very  dark.  He  had  dark  eyes, 
and  hair  that  was  almost  black.  When  he  laughed  he 
had  a  way  of  throwing  back  his  head  that  was  very 
pleasant.  And  when  he  did  so,  he  showed  his  teeth. 
They  were  nice  teeth. 

When  it  got  dark,  Hen  brought  him  into  the  house. 
Father  had  been  sitting  reading  a  commentary  on  He- 
brews, but  he  laid  it  aside  and  got  up  when  Brooks  came 
in.  Mother  shook  hands  with  him  also,  and  said  she  was 
glad  to  have  him  come  down.  He  looked  at  her  with  his 
pleasant  smile,  and  I  could  see  he  was  taken.  But  who 
wouldn't  be — with  mother! 

Margaret  sat  over  by  the  reading  table  and  hardly 


218          The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

opened  her  mouth  all  evening.  She  had  on  her  green 
gingham,  and  I  thought  she  looked  very  pretty  in  it. 
It  had  white  cuffs  and  a  white  collar,  and  the  collar  made 
her  look  very  sweet  and  fresh.  When  I  saw  how  nice 
she  looked,  I  hoped  she  would  talk  a  lot,  and  do  things 
to  draw  attention  to  her.  And  I  was  greatly  disappointed 
that  she  sat  there  without  saying  hardly  a  word.  But 
we  did  have  a  very  pleasant  evening,  for  all  that. 

After  that,  Brooks  came  down  to  our  house  very  often. 
It  was  very  lonely,  he  said,  up  at  the  boarding  house, 
with  no  one  to  talk  .to,  and  he  liked  to  come  down  and 
talk  to  us.  He  and  Hen  were  very  good  friends ;  had 
known  each  other  at  Sisters ville ;  and  found  no  end  of 
things  to  talk  about. 

Father  and  he  also  talked  a  lot.  He  asked  father  all 
sorts  of  questions  about  the  Bible,  and  inspiration,  and 
the  Second  Coming.  And  in  answering  him  father  usu- 
ally got  deadly  in  earnest.  Drawing  little  diagrams  on 
the  floor  with  his  finger,  to  represent  times  and  periods 
and  ages,  he  eliminated  one  after  another  of  the  ages 
that  stood  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  time,  and 
narrowed  down  the  number  until  one  only  was  left. 
And  that  was  our  age.  Father  was  sure  the  end  of  the 
world  was  close  at  hand.  And  he  pictured  it  all  out 
until  I  felt  again  the  horror  of  the  Judgment  Day. 

He  stopped  to  explain  every  big  word  he  used,  such 
as  apocalyptic  and  anthropomorphic,  and  he  did  it  so 
well  that  I  understood  the  whole  thing.  Brooks  listened 
to  him  so  closely  that  I  wondered  at  times  whether  he 
was  not  afraid  he  had  sinned  away  his  day  of  grace. 
But  when  I  caught  him  on  many  occasions  looking  slyly 
over  at  Margaret,  I  ceased  to  worry  about  his  salva- 
tion. 

And  then  one  Sunday  evening  he  walked  home  with 
Margaret  from  church.  Not  that  he  went  up  and  asked 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          219 

her,  or  anything  like  that.  It  looked  natural  enough, 
for  we  were  all  along.  But  he  walked  with  her,  all  right, 
and  he  took  her  arm  when  they  came  to  a  rough  place 
in  the  road.  When  we  reached  home  he  stopped  at  the 
gate  and  said  good-night  to  us  all  together.  But  I  could 
see  that  it  was  Margaret  he  meant. 

There  came  quite  a  change  over  Margaret.  She  got 
up  early  of  a  morning,  and  worked  about  the  house  dur- 
ing the  day  singing  little  meaningless  songs  she  had 
learned  here  and  there.  She  laughed  at  the  least  little 
thing.  But  usually  of  an  evening  she  slipped  out  to  the 
high  bank  above  the  river  and  sat  looking  off  toward 
Honnells  Gap,  a  dreamy  look  in  her  eyes. 

But  then — well,  who  wouldn't? 


Chapter  18 

MY,  my,  how  the  time  did  fly!  If  I  looked  back 
over  the  months  to  an  event  that  had  taken  place 
somewhere  in  the  past,  it  seemed  ages  away.  But  at  the 
time  of  its  passing,  no  day  was  long  enough  to  hold  the 
thousand  delights  that  could  have  been  crowded  into  it, 
had  there  been  time.  I  was  worried  absolutely  not  at 
all.  I  had  no  regrets  for  the  past,  because  it  was  as  I 
would  have  had  it  again.  I  regretted  the  passing  of  each 
day  only  because  I  would  fain  have  had  more  of  it. 
But  I  knew  there  would  be  another  on  the  morrow,  and 
I  lived  constantly  in  present  delights  and  future  anticipa- 
tions. 

It  was  a  great  life !  The  lazy  summer  droned  on,  with 
its  warm  days,  when  the  bumblebees  hummed  on  the 
sand  briers  and  the  river  stood  blue  and  still.  And  the 
nights  were  nights  of  pleasantness  and  of  peace,  when  the 
fog  hung  like  eiderdown  over  the  water,  the  whippoor- 
wills  called  to  each  other  on  the  mountainside,  and  the 
lightning  bugs  made  dots  of  yellow  light  off  in  the  bot- 
toms. And  following  the  summer  slowly  came  golden 
autumn,  when  the  hoarfrost  lay  white  on  the  grass,  the 
chestnut  burrs  curled  open  and  the  big  brown  fat  nuts 
dropped  to  the  ground.  Then  winter  came,  and  school 
opened  up  an  entirely  new  life.  After  school  of  eve- 
nings there  were  such  myriad  things  to  do — traps  to  set, 
deadfalls  to  go  over,  rabbits  to  track  up,  that  no  day  was 
sufficient.  And  even  the  nights,  with  great  logs  burning 

220 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          221 

in  the  fireplace  and  chestnuts  to  roast  in,the  ashes,  were 
never  long  enough.  And  spring  came  on,  and  summer 
arrived  again,  almost  before  I  knew  it. 

Our  school  was  over ;  Hen  was  home  for  the  summer ; 
and  I  had  my  first  suit  of  store  clothes,  before  I  really 
stopped  to  take  note  of  the  quickly  passing  time.  It  was 
the  suit  of  clothes  that  made  the  epoch,  I  think.  I  had 
for  a  long  time  wanted  some  clothes  that  were  all  made 
up  when  they  left  the  store.  Mother  had  always  made 
my  clothes,  and  they  were  all  right,  of  course.  But  they 
did  not  look  like  the  clothes  bought  at  the  store.  The 
seams  in  my  pants  often  puckered  in  down  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  my  coats  were  terribly  funny  up  at  the  collar. 
I  didn't  mind  it  for  a  long  time,  but  it  got  to  seeming  as 
though  I  simply  must  have  a  suit  of  store  clothes.  And 
one  day  I  saw  a  golden  opportunity.  Old  Herb  Ellan- 
ger  was  rafting  his  logs  down  at  the  mouth  of  Little 
Creek,  and  he  wanted  a  dozen  white  oak  saplings  to  nail 
across  them.  I  was  at  the  store  when  he  came  in  and 
said  what  he  needed.  Five  cents  a  sapling  he  was  willing 
to  pay,  and  the  amount  looked  fabulous  to  me.  I  offered 
to  have  them  on  the  creek  bank  by  noon,  and  hurried 
home  in  a  fever  of  delight. 

Away  back  up  on  the  hill  I  went  with  our  big  poleaxe, 
and  cut  the  saplings  we  had  climbed  over  for  many  a 
summer.  The  few  little  limbs  were  easily  cut  off,  and 
after  the  top  had  been  cut  out,  I  dragged  the  poles  in 
piles  of  four,  butt  ends  together,  and  went  home  after  old 
Bill.  With  his  single  harness  on,  I  threw  the  single-  • 
tree  and  snake-chain  over  my  shoulder,  and  rode  him 
up  on  the  hill.  Three  trips  I  made,  riding  Bill  and  snak- 
ing the  saplings  down  the  hill.  It  was  a  little  after  noon 
when  I  got  the  last  load  down.  Old  Herb  was  standing 
on  the  bank  when  I  arrived,  his  great  silver  watch  in  his 
hand. 


222          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"It's  a  little  after  noon,  Ben,"  he  said,  his  heavy  face 
breaking  into  a  hard  smile.  "I'll  have  to  dock  you  five 
cents  on  the  lot." 

"No,  but  you  didn't  have  to  wait  any !" 

"But  you  were  to  have  them  all  here  by  noon.  Here 
is  the  fifty-five  cents,"  and  he  handed  me  the  money. 

"But  I  ought  to  have  sixty,"  I  said  angrily. 

"That  will  learn  you  to  keep  a  contract,"  and  he  started 
off  toward  the  mouth  of  the  creek. 

I  felt  deeply  that  he  had  been  unjust,  but  there  was 
nothing  that  I  could  do.  He  had  the  reputation  of  driv- 
ing sharp  bargains,  and  I  was  afraid  if  I  said  anything 
more  he  would  want  to  take  back  some  of  the  fifty-five 
cents.  So  I  took  old  Bill  home,  unharnessed  him,  and 
made  for  the  store. 

I  knew  what  I  wanted.  There  was  a  brown  suit  of 
clothes  there  that  I  had  looked  at  longingly  for  many  a 
day.  I  would  get  it.  It  cost  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,  but 
I  had  hopes  of  being  able  to  get  Brooks  Hollingshead 
to  fall  in  the  price  some.  If  he  would  come  down  to  a 
dollar,  I  could  pay  the  fifty-five  cents,  and  get  the  rest 
some  way. 

"I  would  like  to  see  that  brown  suit  over  there, 
Brooks,"  I  said  eagerly,  pointing  to  it. 

When  he  had  laid  it  on  the  counter  I  felt  of  it,  and  my 
hands  were  very  nervous.  It  seemed  more  desirable  than 
ever,  now  that  it  looked  as  though  I  really  could  get  it, 
but  I  shrank  from  asking  him  the  price,  and  then  asking 
him  to  credit  me  for  the  amount  above  fifty-five  cents. 

"How  much  is  it?"  I  asked  nervously. 

"One  dollar  and  a  quarter,"  he  said  in  a  business-like 
way. 

"Could  you  come  down  on  it  some?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Ben.  I'll  make  it  to  you  for  one  dollar, 
cash." 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          223 

My  heart  sank.  Cash  meant  all  the  money  down,  and 
I  didn't  have  all. 

"I'll  pay  you  fifty-five  cents  down  and  the  rest  some 
time  soon,"  I  offered,  not  very  confidently. 

"Does  your  father  know  you  are  getting  it?" 

"No." 

"Where  will  you  get  the  money  to  pay  the  balance?" 

"I'll  get  it  somewhere,"  I  said  fiercely. 

He  laughed. 

"All  right.    Take  it." 

I  counted  out  the  fifty-five  cents  carefully,  and  then 
my  fingers  closed  over  the  suit.  Holding  it  in  my  arms 
I  started  for  the  door. 

"Don't  you  want  it  wrapped  up,  Ben?" 

I  didn't  answer.  I  was  afraid  to  let  it  out  of  my  hands. 
It  seemed  I  might  never  get  hold  of  it  again  if  I  let  go 
of  it  for  a  moment.  I  ran  all  the  way  home,  rushed  in, 
and  showed  it  to  mother. 

She  seemed  sufficiently  impressed.  She  took  it  from 
me,  ran  her  fingers  in  the  coat  sleeve,  and  looked  at  the 
cloth  critically,  then  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"Where  did  you  get  it,  son?"  she  inquired. 

"At  the  store.  I  hauled  some  poles  for  Herb  Ellan- 
ger's  raft,  and  he  paid  me  fifty-five  cents  for  them.  The 
suit  cost  a  dollar.  I  owe  forty-five  cents  on  it  yet,  but 
I  can  get  that  somewhere." 

"Try  it  on,  and  let  me  see  how  it  will  fit." 

That  was  precisely  what  I  wanted  to  do,  and  I  was  not 
slow  in  doing  it.  ,My,  how  it  did  fit !  The  seams  of  the 
pants  were  straight,  and  the  legs  were  pressed  neatly. 
The  coat  fit  perfectly,  and  I  liked  the  smell  of  the  cloth. 
It  had  a  strange  smell,  different  from  any  clothes  I  had 
ever  worn. 

Sunday  had  always  been  a  day  more  to  be  dreaded  tfian 
desired  by  me,  for  while  I  liked  to  go  to  church  and  see 


224          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

everybody,  there  were  so  many  things  we  could  not  do 
on  Sunday  that  we  had  to  be  very  careful.  But  now  I 
wanted  Sunday  to  come,  and  come  quickly,  so  I  could 
wear  my  new  suit. 

Essie  Evans  was  always  there,  her  curly  hair  falling 
down  round  her  shoulders,  neat  and  nice  as  ever,  al- 
though much  taller  than  she  used  to  be.  And  while  she 
was  always  friendly  with  me,  I  thought  she  liked  to  go 
about  with  Tim  Tahune  too  much  since  he  had  got  his 
new  store  suit.  She  had  told  me  she  didn't  like  Tim, 
but  he  did  look  fine  in  his  new  suit,  and  she  would 
go  down  to  the  spring  with  him  before  Sunday  School, 
almost  every  Sunday.  I  went  along,  but  someway  Tim 
seemed  to  amount  to  more  than  I  did. 

And  this  Sunday  I  was  to  wear  my  new  suit.  I  knew 
just  how  I  would  fix  myself.  I  would  wash  my  feet  and 
legs  good,  wash  my  neck,  and  comb  my  hair  up  in  a 
high  roach  that  I  thought  made  me  look  much  like  Brooks 
Hollingshead. 

Very  early  Sunday  morning  I  started  out.  When  I 
went  by  Tim  Tahune's,  he  was  out  in  the  yard  washing 
his  face. 

"Early,  ain't  you,  Ben?" 

"Not  much,"  I  said,  extremely  self-conscious  as  he 
looked  me  over. 

"Say,  where  did  that  come  from  ?"  he  asked  seriously, 
giving  a  finishing  touch  to  his  face  with  the  towel,  and 
coming  over  to  inspect  me  closely. 

"Bought  it  at  the  store,"  I  said,  with  an  effort  to  be 
careless. 

"Looks  all  right,"  he  conceded  heartily  when  he  had 
finished. 

His  frank  admiration  was  hugely  gratifying,  and  when 
he  expressed  it  so  frankly,  I  was  inwardly  ashamed  of 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          225 

the  envy  and  jealousy  I  had  so  often  directed  at  him. 
But  I  didn't  say  so. 

"How  soon  will  you  be  ready  to  go?"  I  asked  him. 

"Haven't  fed  the  horses  yet.  I  won't  be  ready  for 
near  an  hour." 

"Guess  I'll  go  on,  then." 

When  I  got  in  sight  of  the  church  I  saw  a  lot  of  the 
girls  playing  out  in  front.  People  got  to  church  early 
in  Barren  Rocks,  sometimes  an  hour  or  more  before  the 
service  would  begin.  And  after  it  was  over,  they  would 
stay  and  visit  until  far  into  the  afternoon. 

When  I  was  near  I  saw  the  girls  stop  and  look  to- 
ward me.  I  was  a  little  uncertain  just  how  I  should 
walk  in  order  to  appear  at  my  best.  All  the  way  to  the 
meeting-house  I  had  been  practising  a  stride  that  would 
suit  me  best,  and  had  finally  decided  on  one,  but  I  was 
still  a  little  uncertain  about  it.  I  had  concluded  that  it 
wouldn't  be  best  to  walk  along  easily,  swinging  my 
arms  like  I  usually  did.  That  would  look  too  frivolous. 
So  I  had  decided  to  walk  slowly,  with  measured  step, 
my  arms  hanging  gracefully  at  my  sides.  And  when  I 
walked  I  was  to  lean  forward  slightly  at  each  step,  as 
a  clerk  that  used  to  be  at  the  store  had  done. 

In  this  measured  dignified  manner  I  approached  the 
meeting-house.  I  looked  for  Essie  Evans  to  run  out  to 
meet  me  and  declare  that  she  would  like  for  me  to  be 
her  partner  in  the  games  that  we  were  to  play.  But 
she  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  girls  simply  stood  and 
looked  at  me  a  moment,  as  though  uncertain  who  I  might 
be.  Then  one  called  out, 

"O,  it's  Ben  Rhodes,"  and  they  all  ran  away  together 
to  play. 

I  was  greatly  chagrined,  but  did  not  entirely  give  up 
hope.  I  would  just  wait  until  the  other  boys  came,  and 


226          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

when  the  girls  saw  us  all  together,  I  was  sure  they  would 
be  impressed. 

But  when  Tim  Tahune  arrived,  he  wore,  in  addition 
to  his  suit,  which  looked  unusually  neat,  a  beautiful  pair 
of  tan  shoes.  Now  I  had  no  shoes.  I  had  always  gone 
barefooted  in  the  summer  time,  and  had  worn  boots  in 
the  winter.  None  of  us  boys  had  ever  thought  shoes 
an  essential  thing  in  the  summer.  For  girls  they  might 
do,  but  as  for  us,  we  had  no  need  of  them.  But  al- 
though I  would  have  been  glad  to  think  otherwise,  I  had 
to  admit  that  Tim's  shoes  looked  not  at  all  out  of  place. 
Rather,  his  stockings  matched  his  pants  so  nicely,  that 
he  seemed  more  finished  and  complete — more  like  the 
pictures  in  the  Journal  and  Messenger — than  I  did.  And 
when  we  started  over  to  the  spring  to  get  some  water, 
Essie  Evans  went  with  him. 

I  did  not  go  clear  to  the  spring;  There  seemed  no 
room  for  me  in  the  crowd.  Rather,  in  a  brooding  frame 
of  mind,  I  went  back  to  the  meeting-house,  and  sat  down 
on  the  steps.  I  wanted  to  think  things  out.  The  one 
thing  that  would  admit  of  no  compromise  was  that  I 
must  have  a  pair  of  shoes.  But  how  to  get  them? 
That  was  the  question  with  which  I  wrestled  all  during 
the  service,  and  all  the  way  home. 

But  that  afternoon  all  such  thoughts  were  banished 
from  my  mind.  We  had  no  more  than  finished  dinner 
when  Brooks  Hollingshead  arrived.  He  came  in  cheerily 
and  sat  down  by  the  window. 

"What  do  you  say  to  going  for  some  birch?"  was  al- 
most his  first  question. 

"Nothing  would  suit  me  better,"  Hen  declared. 

"Won't  that  be  fun,"  Margaret  said.  "We  will  go 
over  toward  Honnells  Gap.  There  are  ever  so  many  big 
birches  over  that  way." 

Now,  that  suited  me  as  well  as  it  did  any  of  them. 


The  'Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          227 

To  go  out  in  the  woods  and  cut  down  a  young  birch  tree, 
peel  off  the  bark  in  big  pieces,  and  with  a  sharp  spoon, 
scrape  off  the  sweet  sap  and  eat  it — that  was  about  as 
fine  a  thing  as  could  be  done. 

I  had  already  taken  off  my  suit  and  put  on  my  old 
clothes,  and  while  Margaret  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to 
get  some  spoons  to  scrape  the  sap  with,  I  went  out  to 
get  the  poleaxe. 

Hen  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out.  When  I  returned 
with  the  axe  he  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  before  he  came  back.  Jane  was  with  him  when 
he  did. 

And  when  we  started  off  up  the  bottom,  Brooks  walked 
easily  along  beside  Margaret.  Hen  and  Jane  were  in 
front  of  them,  and  I  walked  importantly  along  ahead  of 
them  all. 

The  afternoon  was  glorious.  We  climbed  the  hill  above 
our  house,  and  the  laurel  bushes  were  freighted  down 
with  immense  big  white  and  pink  flowers.  Mountain- 
tea,  with  its  little  green  leaves  and  red  berries,  grew 
along  the  ground  like  a  carpet.  And  when  we  got  on 
top  of  the  hill  we  looked  off  over  one  chain  of  hills 
after  another,  into  the  far  distance  where  the  blue  of  the 
hills  seemed  to  meet  the  blue  of  the  sky.  And  I  thought 
as  I  had  often  thought  before,  that  out  there  was  the 
end  of  the  world. 

We  climbed  down  the  hill  on  the  opposite  side,  down 
into  the  deep  moist  hollow,  where  the  leaves  had  been 
gathering  for  years  and  the  sun  seldom  shone.  We  had 
all  reached  the  bottom,  and  I  was  exploring  around  on 
all  sides  when  I  found  my  big  patch  of  sang.  Sang  we 
all  called  it,  but  father  had  often  explained  that  the  real 
word  was  ginseng.  Ginseng  or  sang,  I  had  found  a  big 
patch  of  it,  and  my  heart  leaped  with  the  possibilities 
it  offered. 


228          The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

I  said  no  word  to  the  others,  but  let  them  go  on, 
while  I  hastily  cut  a  limb  from  a  bush  and  sharpening 
the  end  of  it,  began  feverishly  to  dig.  It  was  not  long 
before  I  heard  the  resounding  strokes  of  the  axe  on  the 
mountainside,  but  I  paid  no  heed.  On  and  on  I  dug 
until  my  pockets  were  full  and  bulging  with  the  stringy 
uneven  brown  roots.  It  was  only  after  the  last  root  was 
dug,  and  I  had  looked  carefully  around  for  more,  that  I 
started  toward  the  direction  of  the  sound  of  the  axe. 

The  little  slim  birch  tree  fell,  and  we  peeled  off 
great  strips  of  the  tough  bark  and  scraped  the  white 
juicy  sap  out  of  the  hollow  troughs  with  our  spoons. 
I  ate  all  I  wanted,  and  then  began  to  scrape  the  sap  out 
in  long  strips  and  plat  them  together  to  take  home  and 
dry.  It  was  very  good  dried. 

It  was  while  we  were  on  our  way  home,  laughing,  chat- 
tering, telling  funny  stories  and  having  a  great  good 
time,  that  it  dawned  on  me  with  a  suddenness  very  sur- 
prising, that  Margaret  had  grown  up.  I  had  not  really 
thought  much  about  her,  except  simply  as  Margaret, 
since  the  winter  day  a  few  years  before  when  she  stood 
looking  meditatively  out  of  the  window.  I  had  thought 
somewhat  hazily  then  that  she  had  changed,  but  I  had 
thought  nothing  more  about  it.  But  to-day  she  seemed 
like  a  different  Margaret  from  the  one  I  had  always 
known.  Father  had  called  her  a  tomboy  when  she  was 
growing  up;  and  later  he  had  said  she  spent  too  much 
time  moping  about  when  she  ought  to  be  helping  mother. 
But  it  struck  me  as  we  all  walked  home  together  that 
Margaret  was  not  at  all  like  she  used  to  be.  Her  hair 
did  not  hang  down  her  back  in  a  big  plat,  for  one  thing. 
But  that  was  not  it.  She  had  been  putting  it  up  on  her 
head  for  a  long  time,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  make  much 
difference.  The  skirts  she  wore  were  longer.  The  blue 
one  she  had  on  to-day  came  to  her  shoe  tops. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          229 

But  it  was  something  more  subtle  than  these,  and  yet 
it  was  all  very  contradictory.  She  seemed  frailer  than 
she  used  to  be,  but  she  was  not.  There  was  something 
soft  and  appealing  about  her,  but  she  was  as  jolly  and 
sharp-witted  as  anybody. 

She.  stood  up  on  the  trunk  of  a  great  oak  tree  that  had 
fallen  so  long  ago  that  it  was  rotting  away,  and  tiptoed 
up  to  look  into  a  bird's  nest  that  was  slung  jauntily  to 
an  overhanging  bough.  And  as  she  stood  there,  graceful, 
charming,  with  an  evasive  resemblance  to  mother  in  the 
way  she  arched  her  head  and  smiled,  I  thought,  as  I  had 
thought  once  before,  that  she  looked  like  some  nimble 
graceful  elfin  poised  for  flight. 

All  at  once  I  felt  very,  very  lonely.  It  was  as  though 
Margaret  had  moved  on  into  another  world  and  had 
left  me  to  wander  behind.  And  I  knew,  as  I  had  known 
so  many  things  before,  not  because  I  had  been  told  or 
had  any  assurance  from  without  that  they  were  so,  but 
simply  because  I  knew  from  within  that  they  were — in 
this  way  I  knew  that  Margaret  and  I  would  never  again 
be  the  great  companions  we  had  been.  She  had  passed 
beyond  me,  and  whither  she  had  gone  I  could  not  follow. 
Then  and  there  I  gave  her  up,  and  it  was  with  more  re- 
gret than  was  the  case  when  I  said  good-bye  to  Hen  as 
he  left  to  go  to  school,  for  I  knew  he  would  come  back, 
but  I  knew  equally  well  that  Margaret  would  never 
return. 

But  when  I  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket  to  get  my 
knife,  all  thoughts  of  a  gloomy  nature  vanished  before 
the  fact  that  I  had  in  that  selfsame  pocket  enough 
sang  to  pay  the  balance  on  my  suit  and  go  a  long  way 
toward  buying  a  pair  of  shoes.  I  thought  happily  of  the 
shoes.  They  should  be  tan,  not  like  Tim's,  for  that 
would  look  as  though  I  had  picked  shoes  like  he  had. 
They  should  be  darker  than  his,  and  the  soles  should  be 


230          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

a  little  thinner.  And  I  ran  home  to  spread  my  sang 
out  to  dry. 

After  a  week  of  impatient  waiting  for  it  to  dry,  I 
took  it  eagerly  up  to  the  store.  My  shoes  would  be  a 
dollar  and  a  half,  and  I  owed  forty-five  cents  on  my 
suit.  That  meant  a  dollar  and  ninety-five  cents  in  all, 
and  I  hoped  ardently  that  the  sang  would  bring  that 
amount,  for  I  knew  it  sold  for  four  dollars  a  pound. 

It  came  to  a  dollar  and  seventeen  cents.  I  hung 
around  the  scales  while  it  was  being  weighed,  and  hag- 
gled with  Brooks  for  a  few  more  cents,  but  he  was 
obdurate.  A  dollar  seventeen  was  all  he  would  give,  and 
while  I  was  disappointed,  I  asked  him  if  he  would  give 
me  the  two  cents'  worth  of  candy,  and  allow  me  to  pay 
the  rest  on  a  pair  of  shoes.  He  looked  at  me  quizzically 
and  said  he  guessed  he  would  risk  it.  And  carrying  the 
coveted  shoes,  I  went  home  at  a  dead  run. 

And  the  following  Sunday  I  went  straight  up  to  Essie 
and  asked  her  to  go  down  to  the  spring  with  me  after 
water.  She  looked  at  me  with  her  brightest  smile. 

"Come  on,  Ben.  We  will  run  away  from  that  Tim 
Tahune." 

I  was  perfectly  willing  to  run  away  from  him,  not 
that  I  feared  him,  for  I  believed  that  with  my  new  suit 
and  shoes  I  did  not  need  to  fear  any  one.  But  I  was 
glad  to  take  Essie  down  over  the  big  bank,  where  we 
were  out  and  away  from  the  others. 

We  had  a  glorious  time.  I  pulled  a  big  leaf  off  of  a 
little  oak  sprout  and  made  a  cup  for  her  to  drink  out  of. 
She  held  it  daintily  out  from  her  as  she  drank,  and  her 
beautiful  curls  fell  down  around  her  shoulders. 

"Is  it  all  right,  honey?"  I  asked  her. 

My  new  shoes  had  given  me  a  confidence  and  a  bold- 
ness I  had  never  known  before.  I  felt  equal  to  any 
emergency. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Hocks          231 

She  looked  at  me  an  instant,  as  though  she  were  pre- 
paring to  be  very  angry.  My  heart  thumped  against  my 
ribs  while  she  was  hesitating.  But  she  evidently  thought 
better  of  it.  She  smiled,  and  a  little  dimple  snowed  it- 
self in  her  right  cheek,  and  her  dark  eyes  held  a  look 
of  great  companionship. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  said,  softly. 

She  started  rather  quickly  up  the  bank,  and  I  followed, 
trying  to  catch  up  with  her.  She  slowed  down  when  we 
got  near  the  church,  and  together  we  went  inside. 

I  just  felt  that  after  that  I  could  go  with  her  any  time. 


Chapter  19 

T  TNCLE  CHARLES  SHAUDER  was  mother's  broth- 
V-/  er.  He  was  a  very  large  man,  very  fat  and  cheer- 
ful. I  liked  very  much  for  him  to  come  to  visit  us, 
for  he  was  so  big  and  happy  that  he  made  us  all  have 
a  good  time.  He  never  had  the  blues,  and  when  he 
got  up  of  a  morning  he  roared  out  some  funny  greeting 
to  each  one  of  us  as  we  appeared,  and  started  the  day 
off  with  such  funny  jokes  and  so  much  laughter  that 
we  forgot  all  about  having  the  blues. 

He  was  a  minister,  too,  only  he  was  a  Methodist. 
Mother  had  been  a  Methodist  before  her  marriage,  but 
when  she  married  father  she  joined  the  Baptist  church, 
for  father  said  it  would  never  do  for  a  minister's  own 
household  to  be  divided.  But  Uncle  Charles  was  a 
Methodist,  and  I  had  early  promised  him  that  I  would 
be  one  too  when  I  grew  up,  for  I  thought  if  all  Meth- 
odists were  big  and  cheerful  like  him,  it  surely  would  be 
a  jolly  church  to  belong  to. 

Uncle  Charles  was  always  trying  to  persuade  father  to 
join  the  Methodist  church.  He  said  father  was  such  a 
big  preacher  that  he  would  soon  be  made  a  Presiding 
Elder  if  he  were  a  Methodist;  and  he  further  declared 
that  he  ought  to  get  out  of  the  woods  and  go  somewhere 
where  he  would  be  appreciated.  Father  had  always  said 
that  he  simply  could  not  consider  such  a  thing,  and  the 
subject  was  dropped. 

But  once  Uncle  Charles  came  to  see  him  about  a  very 

232 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          233 

important  matter.  They  went  on  a  long  walk,  and  talked 
seriously  all  the  way.  I  went  along  with  them,  but 
father  told  me  to  run  ahead  and  play,  so  I  did  not  hear 
what  they  said.  But  that  evening  I  came  on  father  and 
mother  in  the  kitchen  alone.  They  were  talking  very 
seriously,  and  looked  exceedingly  solemn. 

"He  said  all  was  arranged,"  he  was  saying,  "and  that 
I  could  be  assigned  to  it  right  away.  It  is  a  big  church, 
a  station  right  in  the  city." 

"Would  you  be  contented  there,  dear?"  mother  asked, 
softly. 

Father  looked  troubled.  He  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  a  long  time. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  finally. 

"You  know,  dear,"  mother  went  on,  still  softly,  "the 
size  of  the  church  isn't  everything.  And  neither  is  the 
money.  You  could  get  more  money  here  if  you  should 
ask  for  it." 

"O,  I  know.  But  it  is  not  so  much  that,  Anne.  It's 
the  children.  They  are  growing  up,  and  maybe  they 
ought  to  have  the  advantages  of  the  city." 

"We  will  go  if  you  think  best,  dear.  But  our  children 
are  all  I  want.  We  have  been  greatly  blessed  with  them 
all." 

"That's  all  true.  But  conditions  are  changing.  We 
must  fix  it  so  they  can  take  their  place  in  the  world." 

"And  what  of  the  churches  here?" 

Father  again  looked  troubled.  He  sat  down  in  a  chair 
and  laid  his  head  over  on  the  table. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  simply. 

"When  do  you  have  to  decide?" 

"Before  he  goes  back." 

"That  gives  us  a  week.  We  will  decide  one  way  or 
another  by  that  time." 

And  they  decided  on  a  plan.    Father  should  visit  the 


234         The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

four  churches  of  the  circuit;  talk  with  the  members 
about  the  matter,  and  if  they  seemed  willing  to  consider 
a  change,  we  should  move. 

It  was  a  busy  week  for  him.  He  spent  a  day  among 
the  members  at  the  River  appointment,  and  came  home 
looking  more  troubled  than  ever.  He  next  rode  over 
to  Oakum  Mills,  spent  two  days,  and  again  returned 
with  a  haggard  look  about  his  eyes.  Then  he  went  to 
the  Shoals,  and  finally  visited  around  among  the  people 
at  Barren  Rocks. 

"Well,  what  have  you  decided?"  mother  asked  him, 
smiling  wanly,  when  he  had  finished. 

"I  have  not  decided." 

"But  there  are  only  two  days  more.    You  must  decide." 

"I  suppose  I  must." 

But  he  wandered  vacantly  about  the  house  that  eve- 
ning, as  if  vainly  endeavouring  to  make  up  his  mind. 
Uncle  Charles  pressed  him  for  an  answer. 

"Don't  be  so  squeamish  about  it,  Peter.  The  time  has 
come  in  this  day  when  a  man  must  grasp  his  opportu- 
nities as  they  come  to  him.  And  a  big  thing  like  this 
does  not  turn  up  every  day." 

"But  what  about  the  churches  here?" 

"Why,  let  them  go.  You  can't  afford  to  spend  your 
whole  life  cooped  up  here.  Ybu  are  getting  old,  man. 
And  these  people  can  find  another  man  that  can  take 
your  place." 

"I  suppose  so.  Well,  I'll  let  you  know  before  you 
go  back." 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning  that  a 
member  of  the  River  appointment  rode  slowly  down  the 
bottom,  and  hitched  his  horse  to  the  fence.  Soon  there 
was  another,  and  still  others,  until  six  men  from  the 
River  had  arrived.  They  hitched  their  horses  to  the 
fence  and  stood  awkwardly  about. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          235 

And  then  from  up  over  the  hill,  they  began  to  arrive 
from  Oakum  Mills.  Tall  silent  men,  slouched  down  in 
the  saddle,  their  white  cotton  socks  showing  above  their 
heavy  shoes  where  their  pants  had  been  worked  up  by 
the  stirrup  strap.  They  came  down  the  hill,  hitched 
their  horses  to  the  fence,  and  joined  the  others. 

Men  from  the  Shoals  also  came,  some  riding,  some 
coming  in  a  boat.  And  then  people  who  lived  around 
Barren  Rocks :  Henry  Tolliver,  Herb  Ellanger,  and  many 
more. 

We  were  greatly  mystified  at  their  appearance.  It  was 
not  a  surprise  party,  for  there  were  no  women  along. 
And  there  was  something  so  serious  in  the  way  they 
came  up  and  stood  around,  that  I  knew  they  had  come 
on  important  business. 

Father  joined  the  group,  and  tried  his  best  to  talk  with 
the  men,  but  they  were  not  talkative.  Clearly  they  had 
something  on  their  minds,  and  were  in  no  mood  for  con- 
versation until  it  was  off. 

When  there  were  no  others  in  sight,  and  it  was  clear 
that  all  had  come  who  were  to  be  there,  they  came 
through  the  gate  and  stood  in  an  uneven  circle  about  our 
front  door.  Mother  stood  in  the  doorway  watching 
them;  father  came  up  and  sat  down  on  the  step. 

Henry  Tolliver  disengaged  himself  from  the  others, 
and  walked  well  over  to  the  centre  of  the  circle.  He 
faced  father. 

"Brother  Rhodes,"  he  began  in  his  mild  way,  glanc- 
ing first  at  father  and  then  at  the  silent  group  that  stood 
about,  "we  hear  that  you  have  got  a  call  to  leave  us. 
That  is,  you  told  us  about  it  when  you  visited  with 
us.  We  have  been  expectin'  this.  We  all  knowed  that 
you  would  some  day  be  took  from  us.  But  we  had  our 
hopes.  That  is,  we  thought  maybe — we  thought  as 
how  you  might  stay.  And  we  don't  want  you  to  go.  We 


236          The  Manse  at  Barren  Bocks 

will  pay  ye  more.  We  will  see  that  ye  never  want.  But 
it  ain't  that.  A  lot  of  these  here,"  and  he  waved  his 
hand  to  include  the  circle,  "a  lot  of  these  here  have  been 
converted  under  your  preachin'.  Ye  have  married  us  and 
baptised  us,  and,"  his  voice  shook  and  he  hesitated  feebly, 
"and  ye  have  buried  a  lot  more  as  would  like  to  be  here, 
but  could  not  because  God  took  'em.  And  Brother 
Rhodes,  we  have  come  down  to  see  whether  you  won't 
stay  on  with  us." 

He  walked  over  and  joined  the  circle.  The  men 
looked  patient,  serious,  troubled.  There  was  about  it 
all  an  undercurrent  of  deep  emotion.  All  eyes  were 
fixed  on  father. 

I  had  never  seen  father  cry  but  once,  and  that  was 
when  the  Doctor  said  mother  could  not  live.  He  had 
gone  into  the  little  storage  room  to  pray.  He  cried 
then.  But  now  his  eyes  grew  very  misty.  He  looked 
up  at  mother,  who  all  the  time  had  been  standing  in  the 
doorway.  She  nodded  to  him,  and  stepped  down  beside 
him. 

He  stood  up,  looked  into  the  faces  before  him,  smiled, 
and  opened  his  mouth  to  speak.  He  closed  it  and  swal- 
lowed hard.  Then  he  sat  back  down  on  the  step  and  bur- 
ied his  face  in  his  hands. 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  group  about  him.  Some 
cleared  their  throats  noisily,  others  turned  their  faces 
away.  Tears  were  in  many  eyes.  Slowly  the  group 
melted  away.  Horses  were  unhitched,  men  vaulted  into 
the  saddle,  and  soon  we  were  alone. 

Mother  sat  down  beside  father,  and  put  her  hand  in 
his. 

"Tommy,  the  Lord  has  spoken." 

He  looked  up  at  her.  His  eyes  were  wet,  but  his  face 
shone  with  a  great  light.  He  pressed  her  hand. 

"The  Lord  has  spoken,"  he  said. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          237 

And  I  knew  then,  just  as  I  knew  so  many  things  with- 
out being  told,  that  we  should  always  live  at  Barren 
Rocks.  But  I  was  not  sorry.  I  never  wanted  to  leave. 

But  when  Hen  heard  what  had  happened,  he  was  fu- 
rious. He  said  it  was  wrong  to  let  big  opportunities 
slip  by ;  that  with  a  big  church  there  were  greater  oppor- 
tunities; and  that  father  might  not  have  another  chance 
to  go  out  into  the  world  and  really  count.  Uncle 
Charles  agreed  with  Hen,  I  knew,  although  he  never 
said  a  word.  Only  as  he  was  leaving,  he  turned  to 
speak  to  father. 

"I  guess  it  is  settled,  is  it?" 

"It  is  settled,  Charles,"  father  replied. 

When  I  asked  Margaret  what  she  thought  about  it, 
she  smiled. 

Uncle  Charles  was  not  married,  and  he  was  going  to 
see  his  girl  on  his  way  back.  It  seemed  very  funny  to 
hear  Uncle  Charles  talking  about  going  to  see  his  girl. 
Of  course,  he  was  not  so  very  old,  but  his  being  so  big 
and  fat  made  it  seem  almost  comical  to  hear  him  talk 
about  a  girl. 

Her  name  was  Amy  Dedson,  and  she  lived  about 
twenty-five  miles  down  the  river  from  our  house.  Uncle 
Charles  had  to  go  by  there  on  his  way  back  to  Midvale, 
where  his  church  was,  and  he  was  to  stop  a  day  or  two. 

From  the  excited  way  in  which  he  and  mother  had 
talked  of  the  visit,  something  very  important  evidently 
hinged  on  it.  They  were  out  under  the  chestnut  tree  the 
day  before  he  left. 

"And  you  think  she  is  willing?"  mother  asked  ex- 
citedly. 

"I  don't  know,  Sis,"  he  responded  gloomily.  "I  don't 
seem  able  to  worm  a  thing  out  of  her.  She  is  so  con- 
founded elusive." 

"But  you " 


238          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

"Sure.  But  then  it  is  hard  to  tell.  But  one  thing  sure, 
I'm  going  to  have  it  out  with  her  this  time." 

"And  do  let  me  know  the  minute  you  find  out," 
mother  made  him  promise. 

And  from  the  eagerness  with  which  she  watched  for 
the  mail  for  the  first  few  days  after  he  left,  I  surmised 
that  something  important  was  afoot. 

It  was  almost  a  week  after  he  left  us  that  mother  got 
the  letter.  She  flew  at  it  with  great  eagerness,  and 
tore  it  open  instantly.  She  read  it  through  once,  then 
went  back  over  it  and  read  it  again. 

Father  had  been  regarding  her  with  a  tolerant  smile. 

"Well,  did  she  have  him  ?"  he  grinned. 

Mother  did  not  read  it  all  out  loud,  but  she  read  this : 

And,  Sis,  I  popped  the  all-important  question !  It 
staggered  her  for  a  bit.  I  guess  I  talked  so  fast  and 
looked  so  wild  that  she  was  afraid  I  would  fall  on  her. 
But  in  the  end  she  accepted  yours  truly,  and  everything 
went  off  with  a  flourish.  The  date  is  set  for  the  twen- 
tieth, for  I  could  see  no  need  for  delay.  All  we  need 
now  is  the  assurance  that  good  old  Peter  will  be  on  hand 
to  do  the  job. 

Mother  got  all  worked  up  over  it,  and  made  endless 
preparations.  The  wedding  was  to  be  at  Amy's  home, 
twenty-five  miles  down  the  river.  Father  and  mother 
were  to  start  the  nineteenth  so  as  to  be  there  in  good 
time.  My,  the  way  she  did  fix  for  it.  Of  course  she 
would  need  but  two  dresses,  the  one  she  should  ride  down 
in  and  the  one  she  should  wear  at  the  ceremony.  But  I 
do  believe  she  made  over  every  dress  she  had. 

But  on  the  sixteenth  it  began  to  rain.  And  on  the 
seventeenth,  it  fairly  poured.  And  by  the  nineteenth, 
Elk  River  was  a  yellow  flood.  It  raced  past  our  house 
like  mad,  high  and  swift  in  the  centre,  with  a  constant 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          239 

stream  of  driftwood  swirling  down  it.  And  it  was  im- 
possible for  mother  to  go.  For  the  road  was  terrible 
in  good  weather,  crossing  the  river  in  many  places. 
While  at  high  tide  there  was  no  other  way  than  to  let 
the  horse  wade  as  far  out  as  he  could  at  the  fords,  and 
swim  the  rest  of  the  way  across. 

Mother  had  to  stay  at  home.  She  was  more  vexed 
than  ever  I  had  seen  her  before.  She  stood  at  the  win- 
dow biting  her  lip  and  watching  the  muddy  flood  sweep 
by. 

"I  NEVER  wanted  to  go  anywhere  that  something 
didn't  turn  up,"  she  declared  tearfully.  "I  might  have 
known  it." 

And  when  father  was  ready  to  start  she  gave  him  his 
marching  orders  in  a  firm  voice. 

"Now,  Tommy,  you  notice  everything.  EVERY- 
THING," she  repeated  impressively,  shaking  her  finger 
at  him.  "Don't  miss  ANYTHING.  And  remember  it 
all,  too.  And  come  back  here  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  promised  solemnly  to  do  so. 

"Now  remember,"  she  warned  him  as  he  rode  away. 

He  was  back  in  record  time,  and  she  flew  to  the  door 
to  meet  him. 

"Well,  how  did  she  look?"  was  her  first  question. 

"Now,  Anne,  just  wait  a  minute  till  I  get  these  things 
off,"  and  he  began  to  unfasten  his  long  leggings.  It  took 
him  a  long  time. 

Mother  stood  by  impatiently. 

"Was  the  house  decorated?"  she  asked  when  she 
could  restrain  herself  no  longer. 

"House?  What  house?  Why,  let  me  see.  Ton  my 
word,  I  forget  whether  it  was  or  not." 

"I  knew  it,"  mother  cried,  greatly  exasperated.  "Do 
you  remember  ANYTHING?" 

"I  had  to  use  that  Methodist  ritual  after  all,"  father 


240          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

declared  in  a  tone  that  made  it  all  too  clear  that  the  cere- 
mony would  have  been  much  more  satisfactorily  per- 
formed had  he  used  the  Baptist  formula. 

"O,  that!     But  Amy.     How  was  she  dressed?" 

"I  didn't  just  notice  what  she  had  on,  but  really  she 
is  a  sight." 

Mother  was  all  interest. 

"A  sight?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  she  is  long  and  lean.  Flat  as  a  board.  And 
she  has  a  long  red  nose." 

"Really?"  mother  encouraged. 

"Fact.  Red  as  a  beet."  Father  was  evidently  en- 
joying himself. 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it.    Tell  me  more  about  her." 

"Well,  she  is  taller  than  Charles,  and  walks  like  this." 

Father  bent  over  and  made  his  way  awkwardly  across 
the  room. 

"Go  on.    Tell  me  everything." 

And  then  father  went  on  to  tell  everything.  The  trip 
he  had  had  down  the  river;  the  fords  Bill  had  swum; 
the  mud.  And  always  he  returned  to  the  Methodist 
ritual.  That  had  evidently  aggravated  him  more  than 
anything  else,  for  he  made  constant  reference  to  it.  And 
Amy — he  took  great  delight  in  telling  just  how  she  had 
looked. 

It  all  interested  me  very  much.  When  mother  got  a 
letter  from  Uncle  Charles  not  so  many  weeks  later,  say- 
ing that  he 'and  Amy  were  coming  up  for  a  visit,  I  was 
filled  with  curiosity  to  see  his  new  wife.  Mother  was 
too,  for  she  went  all  over  the  house  and  gave  it  a  good 
cleaning. 

But  when  the  day  arrived,  Uncle  Charles  came  alone. 
His  wife's  home  was  between  our  house  and  Midvale, 
and  she  had  stopped  there  while  he  had  come  on  up. 
We  were  greatly  disappointed. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         241 

That  night  we  were  all  sitting  comfortably  around  the 
table.  Uncle  Charles,  in  his  big  cheerful  way,  had  been 
telling  us  of  his  trip,  of  the  church,  and  last  of  all,  of 
his  wife.  He  ended  abruptly  and  called  me  over  to  him. 

"Come  over  and  sit  beside  me,  Ben." 

I  went  over.  It  was  fine  to  be  around  Uncle  Charles. 
He  put  his  arm  across  my  shoulder  and  pulled  me  close 
to  him. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  my  wife  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  never  saw  her,  Uncle  Charles." 

"But  what  did  your  daddy  say  about  her?" 

"I  won't  tell,"  I  answered  quickly. 

I  realised  that  complications  of  some  terrible  sort  were 
imminent.  But  when  he  spoke  again  his  voice  was 
friendly,  and  I  took  courage.  . 

"Sure  you  will  tell  me.    Now  what  did  he  say?" 

I  was  reassured  by  the  tone  of  his  voice,  for  if  he 
meant  to  take  it  all  so  goodnaturedly,  there  could  be  no 
danger  in  telling  him.  Besides,  I  saw  no  way  out  of  the 
difficulty. 

"Now  what  was  it?" 

"He  said  she  was  tall  and  lean." 

He  looked  around  quickly. 

"Was  that  all?" 

"And  had  a  long  red  nose,"  I  went  on. 

"And  then?" 

Now  I  just  felt  that  there  was  something  wrong.  I 
felt  it  in  the  air,  something  ominous,  terrible.  I  looked 
up.  Margaret  sat  looking  at  me  as  if  fascinated,  ab- 
sorbingly interested.  Mother's  glance  was  shifting  fe- 
verishly from  me  to  father  and  back  again.  And  father's 
glance  was  bent  upon  me  in  a  cold  frown.  It  was  his 
eye  that  fairly  froze  my  blood.  I  stopped  speaking  ab- 
ruptly, got  up  and  slunk  out  to  the  kitchen. 


242          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

I  expected  something  awful  to  happen  when  I  saw 
father  alone,  but  he  never  said  a  word. 

When  Uncle  Charles  went  back,  father  and  mother 
went  with  him  part  way.  They  intended  to  go  part  way 
with  him,  and  then  turn  off  for  a  visit  to  their  own  peo- 
ple over  around  Big  Bend.  They  took  Little  Anne  with 
them  and  left  Margaret  and  me  at  home.  Rude  Ham- 
ilton was  to  stay  with  us  and  keep  house  while  they 
were  away. 

Rude  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it  at  home,  alone  so 
much.  For  a  long  time  after  Thomas  was  baptised, 
he  had  kept  pretty  close  home.  But  he  had  developed 
some  new  interests  down  the  river,  and  they  kept  him 
away  quite  a  bit  of  the  time.  He  never  came  back 
drunk  any  more.  He  very  rarely  came  back  at  all.  And 
Rude  was  that  lonesome,  she  was  always  glad  to  stay 
with  us  any  time  we  needed  her.  So  she  came  over  to 
keep  house  for  Margaret  and  me  while  father  and  mother 
were  away. 

It  was  along  about  that  time  that  I  developed  a  great 
tendency  for  bartering.  I  wanted  to  trade,  and  it  made 
little  difference  what  the  object  was,  just  so  a  trade  could 
be  made.  I  just  loved  to  dicker  over  a  bargain,  and  so 
heckle  the  other  party  that  I  would  come  out  ahead. 
I  had  originally  started  with  a  large  barlow  knife,  and 
had  traded  it  for  arrowheads,  cartridges,  horseshoe  nails, 
and  finally  ended  up  with  a  fine  jew's-harp.  Anything 
that  I  had  I  stood  perfectly  willing  to  barter  away,  pro- 
vided I  stood  a  good  chance  of  disposing  of  it  at  its  true 
value. 

And  then  there  was  another  thing.  In  the  Journal 
and  Messenger  from  time  to  time  there  were  advertise- 
ments from  big  stores  out  in  the  world,  offering  fine 
prizes  to  any  one  who  would  sell  certain  articles  for 
them.  In  some  cases  they  allowed  the  agent  to  keep  back 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          243 

part  of  the  money  received  from  the  sale  of  the  articles 
as  a  commission  for  the  work. 

I  was  not  long  in  sensing  the  opportunities  offered  by 
these  concerns,  and  I  soon  sent  off  for  their  wares. 
Once  I  got  a  package  of  gold  nugget  stick  pins,  claimed 
to  have  been  secured  directly  from  the  Klondyke.  I  filed 
into  one  to  test  its  genuineness,  and  discovered  that  it 
was  brass  clear  through.  But  the  things  were  so  heavy, 
and  looked  so  much  like  pure  gold  that  I  had  little  dif- 
ficulty in  selling  them.  In  fact,  when  I  wore  one  out 
to  church  one  Sunday,  all  the  boys  were  wild  about  them, 
and  the  money  just  poured  in  for  a  few  days  after  that. 
Some  one  told  father  that  I  was  outside  selling  nuggets 
while  he  was  preaching,  and  I  got  an  awful  talking  to 
about  it.  But  the  nuggets  sold,  just  the  same.  I  kept 
part  of  the  receipts  as  my  commission,  sending  the  bal- 
ance in  to  the  Company.  And  the  success  fired  my  am- 
bitions. 

I  got  some  salve,  and  had  but  little  trouble  dispensing 
with  it.  All  the  boys  went  barefooted  in  the  summer, 
and  they  got  so  many  stone  bruises  on  their  feet,  that 
their  mothers  were  only  too  glad  to  have  some  good  rem- 
edy handy.  And  when  I  discovered  that  stone  bruises 
were  the  chief  affliction,  I  played  up  that  part  in  great 
shape. 

My  being  a  minister's  son  helped  a  lot.  The  people 
hated  to  say  anything  mean  to  me,  for  they  knew  it  would 
get  to  father  in  time,  and  they  all  wanted  him  to  think 
they  were  perfect.  So  more  than  once  they  bought  the 
salve  just  for  the  effect  it  might  have  on  father.  And 
then,  too,  when  they  simply  could  not  buy  it,  they  were 
so  nice  about  it  that  I  didn't  really  mind. 

But  when  the  other  boys  saw  what  a  harvest  I  was 
making,  they  sent  away  for  things  also,  and  the  market 
was  fairly  glutted.  Sometimes  three  boys  went  to  the 


244          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

same  house  in  one  day.  This  spoiled  it  all  for  me.  And 
it  was  at  a  very  unfortunate  time,  for  I  had  just  got  in 
a  large  supply  of  bluing.  Twenty-four  packages,  to  sell 
at  ten  cents  a  package,  and  the  market  glutted !  It  was 
good  bluing,  coated  on  little  squares  of  paper.  I  had 
been  sent  a  sample  package  with  which  to  demonstrate 
its  value,  and  it  certainly  worked  wonders,  but  it  would 
not  sell.  I  was  desperate,  for  the  company  was  nagging 
me  for  returns,  but  the  case  seemed  absolutely  hopeless. 

I  was  in  this  desperate  condition  when  Brooks  Hol- 
lingshead  came  to  see  Margaret.  For  he  had  got  to 
coming  to  see  her  regularly,  whether  there  happened  to 
be  anything  to  go  to  or  not.  When  he  came  down  on 
this  particular  night,  Margaret  was  not  just  ready  to  see 
him,  and  I  staid  in  the  room  to  entertain  him  while  she 
fixed  up.  We  couldn't  think  of  very  much  to  say,  so  in  a 
lull  I  went  out  and  got  my  bluing.  I  got  a  little  cup  of 
water  also,  to  use  in  demonstrating  the  bluing  to  him. 
I  went  back  in  where  he  was. 

"I  have  something  here  I  want  to  show  you,  Brooks." 

He  looked  up,  very  much  interested. 

"What  is  it,  Ben?" 

"It's  bluing.  See  how  it  works,"  and  I  dipped  a  cor- 
ner of  the  sample  in  the  water.  As  soon  as  it  touched 
the  surface,  little  blue  streaks  began  to  spread  out  in 
the  water.  In  a  very  little  bit  the  whole  cup  was  blue. 

"See  how  good  it  does  the  work?"  I  asked  him. 

"It  surely  does,"  he  answered  enthusiastically. 

"See,  it  comes  in  these  little  packages,"  and  I  held  one 
up.  "There  are  ten  sheets  to  the  package,  and  half  of 
one  sheet  is  plenty  for  a  big  washing." 

"That  surely  is  fine.    Where  did  you  get  them?" 

"Sent  off  for  them.    I  am  selling  them." 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  sell  them,  all  right." 


245 

I  didn't  want  to  say  that  I  could  not  sell  them,  for  fear 
he  would  think  the  bluing  was  no  good.  So  I  said : 

"Maybe  you  would  want  a  package,  Brooks." 

"Me?  No,  I  don't  have  any  use  for  it"  And  he 
laughed. 

"But  you  could  send  it  home,"  I  argued. 

It  was  at  this  rather  awkward  time  that  Margaret 
came  in.  Brooks  got  up  quickly,  and  advanced  to  meet 
her. 

"Good  evening,  Brooks,"  she  said  softly. 

"Good  evening,  Margaret,"  and  he  took  her  hand. 

She  sat  down,  and  he  followed  her  example.  They 
started  up  a  rather  brisk  conversation,  entirely  ignoring 
me.  I  was  greatly  ve;xed  that  Margaret  had  come  in 
just  when  she  did,  for  I  thought  Brooks  was  beginning 
to  yield  when  she  broke  in  on  us.  I  waited  and  waited 
for  a  good  time  to  interrupt  and  reopen  negotiations, 
but  there  seemed  absolutely  no  occasion.  I  sat  on  and 
on.  At  last  there  was  a  lull,  and  Brooks  looked  over 
at  me  curiously. 

I  saw  my  opening. 

"You  see,  Brooks,  you  might  send  it  home  as  a  pres- 
ent." 

"O,  the  bluing,"  and  he  laughed  wanly.  "How  much 
did  you  say  it  was?" 

"Ten  cents  a  package." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  quarter. 

"I  don't  seem  to  have  any  change,  Ben.  Maybe  if 
you  will  go  up  to  the  store  and  get  this  changed,  I  will 
take  two  packages." 

"Is  there  anybody  there  now  ?" 

"Yes,  somebody  always  stays  when  I  am  not  there." 

My  fingers  closed  over  the  quarter  and  I  started  eag- 
erly up.  I  looked  back  at  Brooks  as  I  went  out  the 


246          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

door.     Hie  was  looking  toward  the  lamp,  a  slight  smile 
on  his  face. 

And  by  demonstrating  the  bluing  to  him  time  and 
again,  I  succeeded  in  selling  him  the  whole  lot.  I  did 
think  along  toward  the  end  that  he  was  getting  too  much. 
For,  as  the  women  said  where  I  had  tried  to  sell  it,  a 
little  bluing  went  a  long  way.  But  I  didn't  say  anything. 
And  anyway,  his  mother  got  good  value,  for  it  was 
good  bluing. 


Chapter  20 

FATHER  and  mother  were  to  be  gone  three  weeks, 
and  I  had  planned  for  a  solid  holiday  covering  the 
whole  period.     For  when  they  were  away,  I  did  just 
about  as  I  pleased. 

Not  long  before  they  went  away,  we  had  papered  our 
living  room.  Now,  we  never  used  regular  wall  paper, 
such  as  old  Harrison  Applebee  used,  when  we  papered 
our  house.  When  we  papered  our  house,  we  made  the 
paste  out  of  flour,  and  used  the  back  numbers  of  the 
Journal  and  Messenger  for  wall  paper. 

For  this  reason  it  was  a  very  interesting  thing  to  go 
around  a  room  after  it  had  been  papered,  looking  at  the 
pictures.  Not  the  ones  we  purposely  hung  up,  but  the 
ones  on  the  wall  paper.  In  the  room  where  I  slept  there 
were  any  number  of  such  pictures;  one,  in  particular, 
that  I  looked  at  almost  every  day.  A  big  grouchy  look- 
ing man  was  the  principal  figure  in  it.  He  was  bent  far 
forward,  and  behind  him  was  a  wheel.  From  the  wheel 
big  boots  stuck  out,  and  their  soles  were  full  of  sharp 
tacks.  The  wheel  was  supposed  to  be  revolving  rapidly, 
and  as  it  did  so,  the  boots  kicked  the  old  man  hard. 
Below  it  was  written,  "Kicking  himself  for  not  using 
schnapps  tobacco." 

So  when  we  papered  a  room,  it  was  a  fascinating  thing 
to  go  around  and  look  at  the  new  pictures  on  the  walls. 
It  took  weeks  to  see  them  all  and  know  what  was  writ- 
ten under  each  one. 

247 


248          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

After  father  and  mother  left,  and  things  were  pretty 
still  about  the  house,  I  spent  many  hours  walking  around 
and  looking  at  the  new  pictures.  And  it  was  the  second 
or  third  day  after  they  went  away  that  I  found  the  ex- 
citing one.  It  was  almost  entirely  in  red.  A  reddish 
man  was  standing  on  a  porch,  holding  out  a  beautiful 
rifle  to  a  boy  who  was  running  wildly  toward  him.  There 
was  a  little  loop  out  from  the  man's  mouth,  and  in  it, 
"Take  this,  son,  and  keep  your  eye  steady."  It  was  a 
full  page  picture,  of  wonderful  attractiveness.  Below 
and  at  the  sides  were  little  inserts  of  guns  of  various 
types,  with  prices  printed  beneath  them.  I  thought  it 
was  the  most  wonderful  picture  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
I  looked  at  it  by  the  solid  hour.  I  tried  to  imagine  how 
it  would  feel  to  get  hold  of  such  a  gun,  to  carry  it  on 
my  shoulder,  and  to  go  hunting  with  a  gun  all  my  own, 
and  watch  for  squirrels  and  rabbits  when  I  had  some 
chance  of  shooting  them  myself. 

The  picture  was  on  the  wall  behind  father's  bed,  and 
I  was  lying  across  the  bed  looking  at  it,  when  father  and 
mother  themselves  arrived,  a  day  sooner  than  we  had 
expected. 

The  first  intimation  I  had  of  their  arrival  was  when 
father  called  out  to  me : 

"Come  here,  Ben,  quick." 

I  sprang  from  the  bed  and  hurried  out.  Margaret  had 
heard  them  too,  and  came  running  in  from  the  kitchen. 
I  knew  by  father's  voice  that  there  was  something  un- 
usual on  foot.  He  didn't  call  to  me  in  that  vibrating  way 
when  I  was  merely  to  put  up  the  horses.  So  I  ran  out, 
my  eyes  searching  them  as  I  ran. 

"Look  here,  Ben,  what  I've  got,"  father  yelled. 

I  saw  it,  and  simply  could  not  get  my  breath  for  a 
long  tir~  j.  It  was  a  rifle,  a  twenty-two,  a  breech-loader, 
octagon-barrelled,  and  the  stock  was  glistening  oak,  var- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          249 

nished  until  it  shone.  My  knees  got  so  weak  I  thought 
they  would  just  crumple  up  beneath  me,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  could  not  lift  up  my  arm  to  get  it.  I  just  stood 
weakly  and  stared.  It  was  too  good  to  be  true,  and  com- 
ing as  it  did  after  I  had  been  looking  for  so  long  at  the 
picture  on  the  wall,  it  seemed  like  some  impossible  ending 
of  a  beautiful  dream.  Father's  voice  recalled  me. 

"Here,  Ben.    Come  and  get  it.    It's  yours." 

I  cleared  the  distance  between  us  at  one  bound, 
grabbed  the  gun  out  of  his  hand  and  hugged  it.  I  pulled 
back  the  hammer  and  sprung  the  little  lever  that  ejected 
the  shells.  I  held  it  off  from  me  and  gazed  at  it,  and 
put  it  to  my  shoulder  and  sighted  out  over  the  bead. 
I  was  almost  delirious.  Again  father's  voice  brought 
me  back  to  earth. 

"Where  is  Henry,  Ben  ?    Take  it  and  show  it  to  him." 

I  whirled  on  Margaret. 

"Here,  Margaret.    Take  it.    I'll  go  and  get  Hen." 

He  was  at  the  store,  and  I  started  off  on  a  run.  I 
never  once  stopped  until  I  reached  the  store.  I  found 
Hen  outside  making  darts  out  of  pine  boards.  I  ran  up 
to  him  and  clutched  him  eagerly. 

"Come  home,  Hen.  They  have  come  back,  and  brought 
a  gun,"  and  I  broke  toward  home  as  hard  as  I  could  go. 

Hen  followed,  but  a  little  more  slowly.  I  got  there  a 
little  ahead  of  him,  ran  in  and  got  the  gun  and  met  him. 

"Here  it  is.  See  the  hammer,  and  here  is  the  way  the 
shells  are  thrown  out,"  and  I  showed  him. 

"Well,  don't  go  clear  crazy,  Ben.     Let  me  have  it." 

He  took  it,  and  I  at  once  felt  greatly  ashamed  of  my- 
self. I  tried  to  breathe  normally,  and  stiffened  up  in 
the  hope  that  my  heart  would  not  pound  so  furiously 
against  my  ribs.  I  could  see  it  beat,  and  flutter  my  shirt 
as  it  did  it.  I  hoped  Hen  would  not  notice  it. 


250          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

And  that  night  I  slept  with  the  gun  hugged  tightly  up 
to  me. 

After  that,  my  days  were  one  wild  delight.  Long 
before  the  fog  lifted  off  the  mountains  of  a  morning  I 
was  there,  haunting  the  beech  and  the  hickory,  watch- 
ing for  squirrels.  And  as  they  began  to  stir,  and  jump 
from  bough  to  bough  with  the  heavy  dew  splattering 
down  on  the  leaves  beneath,  I  was  on  hand.  The  gun 
was  not  meant  for  long-distance  shooting,  and  more  shots 
went  wild  than  hit  the  mark,  but  the  excitement  never 
abated,  nor  did  the  joy  decrease.  And  in  the  evening 
during  the  long  twilight  and  until  after  dusk,  I  dogged 
the  rabbits  through  the  fields,  whistling  when  they  ran, 
creeping  up  on  them  when  they  stopped.  While  here 
also  more  shots  were  wasted  than  true,  it  was  more  for 
the  joy  of  the  chase  than  for  the  material  reward. 

So  absorbed  was  I  that  Hen  had  gone  away  for  his  last 
year  in  school,  our  own  school  had  taken  up,  and  golden 
October  had  arrived,  before  I  marvelled  at  the  passing 
of  time. 

We  had  all  been  invited  to  an  apple-cutting  at  Harri- 
son Applebee's,  and  Rude  Hamilton  had  come  over  to 
talk  it  over  with  mother. 

"I  do  think,"  she  was  saying,  "that  with  all  his  money, 
old  Harrison  Applebee  would  cut  his  own  apples  and 
not  have  the  neighbours  come  in  and  do  it  for  him.  But 
that's  the  way  with  the  rich.  As  soon  as  they  get  a  little 
they  want  the  world." 

"O,  but  they  do  it  merely  to  have  a  good  time,"  mother 
protested. 

"I  know  that's  what  they  say.  But  you  know,  Sister 
Rhodes,  them  young  people  waste  more  apples  than  they 
cut.  And  they  never  take  any  pains  with  'em." 

"But  we  must  have  something  going  on  for  the  young 
people." 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          251 

"Why  don't  they  come  to  church?"  she  snapped. 

"They  do,  mostly,"  said  mother  uneasily. 

"And  what  do  they  come  for?  Not  for  worship,  but 
merely  to  gad  around  together." 

"We  were  all  young  once,"  mother  replied  easily. 

"I  don't  think  the  wicked  and  indifferent  need  to  have 
any  excuse  made  for  'em,  Sister,"  and  Rude  looked  very 
severe. 

"O,  no.  Maybe  not.  How  is  your  toothache  lately?" 
Thus  the  subject  was  turned. 

Margaret  and  I  were  ready  to  start  before  Brooks  got 
to  our  house.  Mother  had  torn  up  her  pink  dress  that 
father  got  her  at  the  Association,  and  had  made  it  over 
for  Margaret.  Mother  said  she  was  afraid  to  ride  in  it, 
anyway,  for  if  she  got  mud  on  it  it  would  be  ruined,  so 
she  would  just  make  Margaret  a  pretty  dress  out  of  it. 
It  was  pretty,  very  soft  and  clinging.  And  Margaret 
looked  pretty  with  it  on.  Her  face  was  pink  to  match 
it,  and  to-night  there  seemed  to  be  more  of  a  flush  on  it 
than  usual.  She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her  fingers 
holding  a  small  square  of  a  handkerchief  she  had  not 
yet  unfolded.  When  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door  she 
got  up  all  flushed,  and  started  to  open  it.  Mother  inter- 
cepted her,  and  putting  her  hands  on  Margaret's  shoul- 
ders, looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes.  Margaret  smiled 
uncertainly,  and  Mother  kissed  her.  Then  Margaret 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  out. 

We  three  walked  along  together  for  perhaps  half  the 
way.  Then  Brooks  spoke  to  me. 

"You  be  the  scout  of  the  party,  Ben,  and  travel  on 
ahead  and  let  us  know  if  there  are  any  trees  across  the 
road,  or  mud  puddles  or  things  like  that." 

The  idea  appealed  to  me  strongly,  and  I  strode  im- 
portantly ahead.  I  looked  sharply  for  trees  across  the 
road,  for  overhanging  branches  that  might  be  dangerous, 


252          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  for  treacherous  places  in  the  road.  Clear  up  to  the 
house  I  piloted  them.  I  had  found  nothing. 

"Didn't  find  a  thing,  Brooks,"  I  said  disappointedly. 

"You  looked  all  right,  though.  If  there  had  been  any- 
thing you  would  have  found  it." 

"You  bet  I  would." 

We  went  into  the  house.  A  number  had  got  there  be- 
fore us,  and  they  all  called  out  cheerily  as  we  went  in. 
In  the  centre  of  the  living  room  there  was  a  great  pile 
of  red  apples,  and  when  I  went  into  the  parlour  I  found 
the  same  thing  there.  We  were  to  peel  all  these,  take 
the  cores  out  and  quarter  them,  and  finally,  with  needle 
and  thread,  string  them  on  strings  about  a  yard  long,  so 
they  could  be  hung  up  to  dry.  They  were  usually  hung 
to  the  rafters  in  the  kitchen,  and  along  in  the  winter 
they  would  be  cooked  as  dried  apples. 

All  the  young  people  for  miles  around  were  there,  and 
after  we  got  started  with  the  apples  it  was  great  fun. 
The  peelings  were  put  in  big  dish  pans,  and  the  quarters 
were  put  in  water  buckets  until  time  for  stringing.  We 
had  a  big  time.  We  talked  and  laughed,  and  one  would 
slip  some  of  his  unpeeled  apples  over  to  another,  and 
when  the  trick  was  discovered  there  would  follow  a  great 
argument.  Cores  were  thrown  about  the  room;  peelings 
were  hung  up  in  garlands ;  and  every  one  was  privileged 
to  eat  any  good  apples  that  might  be  found  in  the  lot. 

Old  Harrison  Applebee  sat  over  in  one  corner,  looking 
on  at  everything.  He  wore  a  broad  grin,  and  seemed  to 
take  delight  in  everything  that  went  on  about  him.  His 
wife  sat  with  him  most  of  the  time,  but  when  there  was 
need  of  more  pans  or  buckets,  or  when  some  that  had 
been  brought  in  needed  to  be  emptied,  she  flew  about 
rapidly,  keen  to  see  that  the  work  was  put  through. 

After  all  the  apples  were  peeled  and  quartered  and 
strung,  we  moved  into  the  parlour.  The  floor  was 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          253 

cleared,  and  the  chairs  put  back  against  the  wall.  And 
then  the  real  fun  began. 

We  started  with  the  Virginia  Reel,  and  ended  up  with 
the  Needle's  Eye.  We  usually  began  with  the  Virginia 
Reel,  for  as  a  thing  to  get  up  real  enthusiasm  right  off, 
it  cannot  be  beat.  For  one  thing,  everybody  knew  it,  and 
there  had  to  be  no  explanations.  And  there  was  so  much 
movement  in  it,  such  a  good  chance  for  pairing  off,  that 
we  always  welcomed  it. 

But  the  most  exciting  was  Needle's  Eye.  It  was  ex- 
citing because  it  kept  us  all  guessing.  Who  would  be 
caught  while  going  through  the  needle's  eye,  and  whom 
would  she  kiss,  after  she  was  caught?  For  in  Needle's 
Eye  a  boy  and  a  girl  made  an  arch  by  facing  each  other 
and  holding  hands  above  their  heads.  We  all  caught 
hands,  and  filed  through  the  needle's  eye  in  a  circle.  And 
if  the  needle's  eye  should  close  on  a  girl  while  she  was 
passing  through  it,  she  had  to  kneel,  and  as  we  sang, 
"As  you  rise,  do  confess,  kiss  the  one  that  you  love  best," 
she  got  up  and  kissed  the  boy  she  loved  best.  Or,  if  it 
were  a  boy,  he  had  to  kiss  the  girl  he  loved  best. 

I  liked  it  best  of  all,  for  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  find 
out  just  what  girl  each  boy  was  in  love  with.  And  it 
surely  was  a  dead  give  away  to  the  girls. 

We  were  all  filing  through  the  needle's  eye,  and  I  was 
watching  to  see  it  come  down.  I  was  really  hoping 
that  I  might  be  caught,  for  I  had  my  mind  all  made  up. 
But  it  did  not  come  down  on  me,  although  I  looked  up 
hopefully  about  every  time  I  went  through. 

It  came  down  first  on  Henrietta  McRand.  Henrietta 
had  grown  a  lot  the  past  year  or  two,  but  she  had  grown 
in  both  directions.  She  had  got  pretty  tall,  but  she  was 
also  very  broad.  She  was  very  fat,  especially  her  neck, 
for  it  always  bulged  out  behind.  When  the  arch  came 
down  on  her,  she  kneeled  meekly  while  we  finished  sing- 


254          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

ing.  As  she  knelt  she  folded  her  hands  as  if  in  prayer, 
and  her  neck  was  a  broad  expanse  as  she  inclined  her 
head  forward.  When  the  arch  was  lifted  she  arose, 
glanced  defiantly  around  the  room  until  she  located 
Brooks,  and  walked  over  and  gave  him  a  good  big  kiss. 
We  all  laughed,  but  she  joined  the  circle  and  started  on 
around.  Twice  afterward  she  was  caught,  and,  as  if  her 
mind  were  entirely  made  up,  she  did  the  very  same  thing. 
It  tickled  us  very  much,  but  Brooks  looked  very  un- 
comfortable. 

I  was  amazed  at  the  duplicity  of  Margaret.  Now,  I 
just  knew  that  she  thought  the  world  of  Brooks.  And  I 
supposed,  of  course,  that  when  she  was  caught  she  would 
go  to  him  immediately.  But  instead,  she  walked  over 
and  kissed  Herb  Ellanger  on  the  cheek.  He  was  the  only 
one  who  did  not  see  the  fun  in  it,  for  he  blushed  mis- 
erably. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  we  started  back  home.  I 
again  set  out  as  guide  for  Brooks,  for  the  idea  appealed 
to  me.  To  stalk  grandly  along  in  front,  keenly  alert  for 
fallen  trees,  treacherous  places  in  the  road,  or  even  night 
prowlers  of  one  kind  or  another,  was  a  task  for  which 
I  felt  pre-eminently  fitted.  I  knew  Brooks  thought  so, 
for  he  called  to  me  when  I  lagged  behind,  to  keep  a  sharp 
eye  on  the  road. 

I  thought  once  or  twice  that  something  had  happened 
to  him  and  Margaret  in  spite  of  my  vigilance.  I  stopped 
at  every  fence  that  we  had  to  cross,  and  waited  for  them 
to  catch  up.  And  once  or  twice  they  were  so  long  coming 
that  I  felt  sure  they  had  got  into  trouble  of  some  kind 
in  spite  of  all  my  efforts.  As  it  was,  it  took  us  a  long 
time  to  get  home. 

When  we  finally  did  arrive,  there  was  a  light  in  the 
living  room.  I  could  not  think  what  it  meant,  except  that 
father  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  had  staid 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          255 

out  too  late,  and  was  waiting  up  to  talk  to  us  about  it. 
In  that  case,  I  did  not  want  to  go  in  alone,  so  when  Mar- 
garet and  Brooks  stopped  at  the  gate,  I  waited  for  them 
over  near  the  door. 

But  they  stood  there  so  long  that  my  curiosity  finally 
got  the  better  of  me.  I  wanted  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
that  light.  I  went  in.  Mother  got  up  from  a  chair  by 
the  table. 

"Where  is  Margaret?"  she  asked. 

"Out  at  the  gate.    Why?" 

"O,  nothing,"  and  she  sat  back  down. 

When  Margaret  opened  the  door  and  saw  her  sitting 
there,  she  flung  the  door  to  with  a  bang,  and  just  ran 
over  and  fell  into  her  arms.  She  lay  there  for  an  instant 
perfectly  still.  Then  she  sobbed.  Tears  came  into 
mother's  eyes.  I  simply  could  not  understand  it.  Folks 
seemed  to  cry  when  there  was  no  earthly  reason  for  it. 

"Mother,  what's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Run  on  to  bed,  Ben,"  she  said. 

I  went  reluctantly,  leaving  them  there  alone.  Mother 
was  stroking  Margaret's  reddish  hair  the  last  I  saw  of 
them. 

The  next  morning  I  surprised  father  and  mother  in 
the  kitchen. 

"When  did  it  happen?"  he  was  asking,  a  broad  smile 
on  his  face. 

"Last  night  on  the  way  home." 

"But  the  girl  is  so  young,  Anne."  And  he  sobered. 
"She  is  so  very  young." 

"How  old  were  you  and  I,  Tommy?"  mother  asked 
him,  softly. 

"That's  so!"  father  said. 


Chapter  21 

MARGARET'S  wedding  was  set  for  the  following 
June,  partly  because  Hen  would  be  at  home  then, 
but  mainly  because  Margaret  herself  was  determined  that 
it  should  be  in  June.  Hen  could  have  come  home  any 
time,  for  the  matter  of  that,  and  everything  else  could 
have  been  arranged.  But  when  it  came  time  for  a  final 
decision,  she  developed  a  stubbornness  that  amazed  me, 
and  said  that  the  wedding  had  to  be  in  June,  and  that 
was  the  end  of  it. 

I  could  notice  a  big  change  in  Brooks  as  the  winter 
wore  on.  At  first,  when  we  were  just  beginning  to  get 
acquainted  with  him,  he  had  been  very  frank  and  open. 
But  he  was  just  like  most  of  the  people  that  came  to 
visit  us — just  cordial  and  nice  and  friendly.  But  after 
he  had  gone  with  Margaret  for  a  while  as  a  settled  thing, 
he  seemed  to  get  more  distant.  There  was  a  restraint, 
sometimes  real  embarrassment,  in  his  attitude  toward  us. 
He  talked  to  father,  just  as  he  had  always  done,  and 
father  warmed  up  to  him  more  and  more.  But  there 
seemed  to  be  something  about  him  that  prevented  a  real 
understanding  of  him.  And  then,  when  he  and  Margaret 
got  engaged,  he  changed  again.  But  this  time  it  was  a 
change  toward  greater  intimacy.  Not  a  frank  friendship, 
such  as  at  first,  nor  a  strained  awkward  relation,  such 
as  followed.  This  time  there  was  something  very  inti- 
mate about  him,  that  made  him  very  easily  understood 

256 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          257 

and  talked  to.  I  even  felt  sorry  at  times  that  I  had  sold 
him  all  that  bluing. 

He  came  down  to  our  house  much  oftener  than  he 
ever  had.  He  sat  around  the  fire  and  talked  to  us  just 
as  if  he  were  one  of  the  family.  He  and  mother  got  to  be 
great  friends,  and  talked  about  many  things  together. 
And  father,  while  he  did  not  commit  himself  very  often, 
nevertheless  made  it  clear  that  he  thought  Brooks  a  very 
promising  young  man. 

But  the  biggest  change  of  all  was  in  Margaret.  When 
she  got  up  of  a  morning,  it  was  to  sing  like  a  mocking 
bird  as  she  dressed.  And  in  the  kitchen,  when  mother 
gave  her  lessons  about  "running  her  own  house,"  her 
laughter  filled  the  house  like  the  tinkle  of  sleigh  bells  on 
the  mountain.  There  was  something  so  irrepressible,  so 
irresistible,  so  rompish,  about  her  that  she  was  never  re- 
buked and  forever  indulged. 

"I  declare,  Anne,  I  can't  realise  that  she  is  our  girl," 
father  said  to  mother  one  day. 

"How  quickly  they  are  gone!"  and  at  that  moment 
mother  looked  older  than  she  had  ever  appeared  before, 
and  infinitely  weary. 

"I  have  always  thought  of  her  as  just  a  baby,"  father 
continued. 

"So  have  I." 

"I  wonder  where  they  will  live?" 

"In  Sistersville.  Brooks  is  going  in  business  with  his 
father." 

"Nice  thing  for  Henry." 

"Yes,  he  will  live  with  them  if  he  goes  back.  How 
far  was  that  church  Brother  Charles  spoke  about,  from 
Sistersville?" 

"Not  very  far.    And  it  was  on  the  railroad,  too." 

Mothei  sighed. 

"It  is  all  for  the  best,  I  reckon." 


258          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

It  was  so  soon  as  the  river  went  down  in  April  that 
mother  and  Margaret  went  on  a  mysterious  trip  to  Flat- 
woods.  They  might  be  gone  two  days,  mother  said.  But 
to  my  inquiries  as  to  the  purpose  of  their  going,  she 
gave  no  satisfactory  answer. 

"We  want  to  get  some  things,"  she  said  vaguely. 

Even  after  they  returned  it  was  not  very  clear  to 
me  what  they  had  done  that  kept  them  away  for  two 
days.  But  it  was  clear  that  from  that  time  on  our  house 
was  never  the  same.  If  I  started  to  sit  down  on  a 
chair,  I  was  told  to  watch  out  that  I  did  not  sit  down  on 
"that  pattern."  If  I  made  as  if  to  toss  my  hat  on  the 
table,  it  was  to  "be  careful  that  I  didn't  muss  up  some- 
thing." If  I  opened  the  door  it  would  be  to  shut  it 
quickly  lest  something  should  blow  away.  Even  to  walk 
across  the  room  was  a  hazardous  undertaking,  for  I 
was  in  danger  of  stepping  on  something. 

As  a  result  of  all  this  commotion,  my  disgust  of  the 
whole  proceeding  grew  daily  more  intense.  A  wedding, 
in  itself,  was  all  right,  I  reflected  liberally.  And  if  Mar- 
garet wanted  to  have  a  fine  one,  she  was  entitled  to  it. 
But  for  it  to  be  the  one  absorbing  thing  of  the  whole 
household,  for  it  to  upset  all  routine,  and  turn  the  house 
into  a  shamble,  where  meals  were  uncertain  as  to  time 
and  more  uncertain  as  to  preparation  when  they  did 
appear,  was  to  my  mind  carrying  the  thing  a  little  too  far. 

When  Hen  came  home  he  was  so  interested  in  it  all 
that  my  admiration  for  him  dropped  to  a  very  low  point. 
I  had  always  considered  Hen  a  pretty  safe  pattern  to  go 
by,  and  had  thought  that  if  I  did  the  things  he  did  I 
should  be  pretty  sure  of  myself.  But  the  way  he  threw 
himself  into  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  made  me 
feel  that  in  some  very  powerful  way  the  outside  world 
had  changed  Hen,  and  that  not  at  all  for  the  better. 

He  was  to  be  best  man.    While  I  was  not  absolutely 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          259 

sure  what  that  meant,  I  concluded  that  it  must  have  ref- 
erence to  the  rating  of  the  people  on  the  day  of  the 
wedding.  I  reflected  that  on  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  it 
would  be  only  fair  for  the  man  who  was  to  be  married 
to  be  rated  best  man.  Certainly  he  might  be  said  to  be 
the  principal  figure  of  the  occasion;  and  for  Hen  to  set 
himself  up  as  best  man  and  thereby  force  Brooks  into 
a  secondary  place,  seemed  little  short  of  an  outrage.  And 
once  the  thing  was  started,  somebody  else  might  take  it 
into  his  head  to  be  second  best  man,  and  force  Brooks 
down  even  lower. 

It  turned  out  that  Brooks  had  a  sister  named  Grace, 
and  it  was  decided  that  Grace  should  be  bridesmaid.  I 
had  no  difficulty  here.  I  understood  perfectly  what  that 
meant.  In  a  story  that  had  run  in  the  Journal  and  Mes- 
senger for  a  whole  year,  there  was  constant  reference  to 
a  maid  who  did  all  the  hard  work  for  the  heroine.  I 
thought  it  very  proper  in  this  case  for  Margaret  to  have 
a  maid  to  do  all  her  hard  work  on  the  day  of  the  wed- 
ding, so  that  she  could  have  plenty  of  time  to  enjoy 
herself. 

Of  course  father  was  to  perform  the  ceremony,  and 
he  said  more  than  once  in  a  triumphant  way,  that  this 
wedding  should  be  according  to  the  Baptist  ceremony, 
with  no  high  church  frills  about  it.  I  slipped  up  on  him 
one  morning  out  in  the  barn.  Some  one  was  evidently 
with  him,  for  I  heard  voices  as  I  approached.  Then  I 
peeped  through  the  door.  Father  bowed  low,  stepped 
back  slightly,  and  waving  his  hand  toward  an  empty 
stall,  said  in  his  warmest  voice, 

"And  now  allow  me  to  present  my  daughter,  Mrs. 
Hollingshead,  and  her  husband." 

I  understood.  He  was  rehearsing  the  ceremony.  For 
he  closed  every  wedding  in  just  that  way.  He  always 
stepped  back  slightly  from  where  he  had  been  standing 


260          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

during  the  ceremony,  bowed  low,  and  waving  his  hand 
toward  the  bride  and  groom,  introduced  first  the  bride 
and  then  her  husband. 

But  I  was  amazed  that  he  practised  things  like  this 
beforehand.  I  had  supposed  he  always  knew  just  what 
to  do,  and  how  things  ought  to  be  done.  He  fell  in  my 
estimation.  He  was  not  the  original  daring  resourceful 
man  I  had  thought  him  to  be,  after  all. 

I  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  door  watching  him  for 
some  little  time. 

His  face  spread  into  a  silly  smile.  He  advanced  to- 
ward the  empty  stall. 

"My  dear  boy,  let  me  call  you  my  son.  You  have 
taken  my  greatest  treasure." 

Then  he  looked  resigned  and  greatly  broken  up,  and 
very  sorry.  He  looked  as  if  he  were  almost  ready  to 
simper. 

"Ah,  yes.  I  know,  son,"  he  said  as  if  in  response  to 
a  reassuring  speech.  "Well,  I  give  her  to  you,  my  boy." 

This  was  too  much.    I  stepped  into  the  doorway. 

"What  you  doing,  father  ?"  I  asked. 

He  jumped,  and  whirled  about,  looking  very  much 
confused.  His  face  reddened.  Then  he  recovered  him- 
self and  frowned  coldly. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  son?" 

"Nothing." 

"Then  you  go  back  to  the  house,"  he  commanded 
severely. 

I  went  back  to  the  house,  and  into  the  living  room. 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  and  play,  son.  You  are  in 
the  way  here,"  mother  complained  fretfully. 

I  went  out,  started  to  the  stable,  bethought  myself,  and 
went  to  the  garden  to  dig  some  bait.  Putting  some  fish 
worms  into  an  ancient  tomato  can,  I  went  off  to  the 
creek. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          261 

The  day  before  the  wedding,  Margaret  and  Brooks' 
and  Hen  and  I  went  up  on  the  mountain  to  gather  laurel, 
Margaret  had  decided  that  laurel  should  be  used  for 
the  decorations.  And  in  this  I  agreed  heartily,  for  there 
were  bushes  so  loaded  down  with  it  that  they  formed 
veritable  thickets  of  bloom.  Great  round  blossoms,  with 
little  shoots  running  out,  pink  at  the  base  and  shading 
into  white  at  the  tip!  And  the  broad  fat  leaves  were 
green  and  tender,  and  smooth  as  velvet.  Each  of  us 
carried  down  a  great  load,  and  Margaret  and  Brooks, 
flushed  with  the  mountain  climb  and  the  joy  of  life, 
turned  our  house  from  a  staid  old  manse  into  a  bower 
of  Eden. 

That  evening  Margaret  stood  watching  the  sky  to  see 
whether  it  might  indicate  the  next  day's  weather.  The 
sun  sunk  like  a  golden  ball  behind  Honnels  Gap,  and 
little  streamers  of  yellow  light  were  flung  back  across 
the  heavens  for  long  afterward.  She  turned  to  father. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  rain  to-morrow,  father?"  she 
asked  nervously. 

"  'And  he  answered  and  said  unto  them,  when  it  is 
evening  ye  say  it  will  be  fair  weather,  for  the  sky  is 
red/  "  he  quoted. 

"Then  it  simply  CANNOT  rain  to-morrow?" 

"Absolutely,"  for  father  believed  in  verbal  inspira- 
tion. 

Margaret  skipped  into  the  house,  a  great  weight  off  her 
mind. 

The  great  day  arrived  at  last,  and  no  one  but  had  to 
admit  that  as  far  as  nature  was  concerned,  everything 
was  perfect.  Margaret  had  been  plainly  nervous  about 
the  weather,  for  Rude  Hamilton  said  it  was  a  fact,  and 
she  knew  of  many  cases  to  substantiate  it,  that  if  a  girl 
were  married  on  a  rainy  day  she  would  cry  every  day 
of  her  married  life..  And  notwithstanding  the  sober 


262          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

testimony  of  Scripture  to  assure  her  of  a  fair  day,  Mar- 
garet was  up  at  the  peep  of  dawn,  eagerly  scanning  the 
sky.  I  knew  it,  because  she  made  such  a  clatter  with 
her  window  that  we  all  knew  it. 

The  fog  was  heavy  that  early,  and  she  was  greatly 
concerned.  But  only  for  a  little  while.  For  soon  the 
sun  lifted  above  Buzzard  Mountain,  cleared  the  pines, 
and  dispersed  the  fog  like  the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of 
Gideon.  His  roseate  rays  revealed  a  perfect  world.  Dew 
sparkled  on  the  grass  and  stood  in  little  beads  on  the 
gate  post.  A  great  red  bird  from  a  wild  cherry  on  the 
hillside  called  imperiously  his  morning  song,  and  was 
answered  by  a  modest  note  from  the  water  birch.  It  was 
a  glorious  day. 

The  first  guest  to  arrive  was  Rude  Hamilton.  She 
got  there  at  ten  o'clock,  although  the  wedding  was  set 
for  one.  She  came  in  her  best  black  dress,  her  black 
hair  drawn  sharply  back  from  her  forehead.  She  had 
the  appearance  of  being  extremely  hawk-eyed  and  capa- 
ble as  she  marched  in  with  jaws  set.  But  poor  Rude! 
It  was  many  a  day  afterward  that  we  learned  that  she 
had  cried  almost  all  night  because  she  had  to  wear  that 
slick  black  dress ;  and  little  did  we  know  that  her  heart 
was  almost  bursting  with  anxiety  lest  she  appear  awk- 
ward and  out  of  place  among  the  wedding  guests!  It 
was  only  the  shadow  of  death  that  drew  these  things 
from  her.  As  it  was,  she  marched  into  the  room,  jaws 
set  and  hawk  eyes  peering  about.  And  I  would  not  have 
been  one  whit  surprised  had  she  picked  up  the  broom, 
driven  us  all  from  the  house,  and  proceeded  to  give  it 
a  thorough  cleaning. 

But  the  house  needed  no  such  cleaning.  It  had  got 
it.  It  had  got  such  a  going  over  that  I  wonder  the  very 
walls  did  not  cry  out  in  protest.  All  the  back  num- 
bers of  the  Journal  and  Messenger  had  been  used  in 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         263 

papering;  every  thing  movable  had  been  out  and  beaten 
and  sunned;  even  the  stones  in  the  fireplace  had  been 
scrubbed.  There  was  no  cellar  in  our  house,  and  there 
was  no  garret,  either.  But  had  there  been,  it  could  have 
been  said  in  all  truth  that  from  cellar  to  garret  it  was  as 
clean  as  a  pin. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Albert  Hollingshead,  his  wife,  and 
Grace  arrived.  Grace  was  beautiful.  She  was  a  little 
fairer  than  Brooks,  but  looked  a  lot  like  him.  Her 
mother  was  a  little  white-headed  old  woman,  as  mild  and 
gracious  and  sharp  eyed  as  could  be  imagined. 

Albert  Hollingshead  was  a  large  man,  very  dignified 
and  very  impressive.  He  wore  a  white  vest  under  his* 
black  coat,  and  it  made  him  look  very  imposing  and 
terrible.  I  was  almost  ashamed  for  father  when  I  saw 
how  big  and  important  looking  Mr.  Hollingshead  was, 
for  I  was  afraid  he  would  look  insignificant  beside  him. 
But  when  father  towered  over  beside  him,  his  long 
Prince  Albert  falling  to  his  knees,  and  looked  him  stead- 
ily in  the  eye  while  shaking  hands,  I  just  wanted  to 
cheer  right  out.  No  one  could  get  ahead  of  father ! 

Uncle  Charles  and  his  wife  came  next.  He  ran  right 
up  to  Margaret  and  greeted  her  as  Mrs.  Hollingshead. 
Every  one  laughed,  including  Brooks  and  Margaret  her- 
self. And  Aunt  Amy  did  not  have  such  a  long  red  nose, 
after  all.  It  was  just  a  little  long,  but  she  was  nothing 
like  the  ogre  I  had  pictured  her.  Her  eyes  were  very 
soft  and  kind,  and  I  felt  sure  that  she  would  under- 
stand things  just  like  mother. 

The  people  from  Barren  Rocks  came  in  one  by  one, 
and  after  the  first  excitement  of  their  coming  wore  off, 
the  whole  affair  began  to  pall  on  me.  It  was  all  too 
stiff,  too  clean,  to  be  comfortable.  Mother  had  told  me 
to  put  on  my  good  clothes,  but  I  had  not  done  it,  and  in 
the  general  excitement  she  had  not  noticed  my  neglect. 


264          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

So  when  things  began  to  get  too  stiff;  when  there  was 
nothing  new  to  see,  I  slipped  out  the  back  door  and  went 
out  to  the  stable.  I  had  had  enough  of  the  wedding. 

Idly  I  picked  up  a  spade  and  shoved  it  into  the  soft 
earth.  When  I  turned  up  the  soil,  great  fat  fish  worms 
were  sprawling  about  in  it.  I  looked  at  them,  at  the 
sky,  at  the  creek,  and  my  day  was  decided.  Hurriedly 
I  hunted  up  an  old  can  and  put  the  worms  in  it.  I  got 
my  pole  from  behind  the  house,  and  started. 

As  I  was  passing  the  end  of  the  house,  I  looked 
through  the  open  window  into  the  little  back  room  that 
we  used  as  a  storage  room.  It  had  been  converted  into 
an  emergency  pantry,  and  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes  set 
my  mouth  watering.  Boxes  had  been  turned  into  tables, 
and  on  them  were  big  cakes  of  all  kinds,  all  kinds  of  pies, 
and  pudding  and  roast  chicken.  I  stopped.  I  knew  I 
would  not  be  allowed  to  eat  at  the  first  table,  even  if  I 
staid  at  home.  But  I  knew  also  that  if  I  were  gone 
long  I  might  miss  everything.  I  had  been  to  weddings 
before. 

Temptation  was  strong  on  me.  I  thought  I  would  just 
look  a  little  closer.  I  put  down  the  can  and  pole.  The 
window  was  not  very  high,  and  I  went  over  to  it.  Then 
I  climbed  in.  I  suddenly  decided  to  make  a  very  com- 
plete selection,  getting  a  liberal  portion  of  many  things. 
But  just  then  I  thought  I  heard  a  suspicious  movement 
in  the  kitchen  outside.  I  knew  if  I  were  discovered  I 
should  be  lost.  A  great  custard  pie  was  the  first  thing  I 
could  lay  my  hands  on,  and  I  laid  them  on  it,  none  too 
gently.  I  vaulted  the  window  sill  and  was  gone. 

It  was  hard  work  carrying  the  bait  and  pole  and 
pie,  and  the  pie  suffered  somewhat  as  to  symmetry  and 
general  outline.  But  when  I  reached  the  security  of  the 
creek  bank  I  put  down  the  bait  and  pole,  and  turned  my 
whole  attention  to  the  pie.  In  breaking  up  it  made  some- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          265 

what  of  a  muss,  but  luckily  it  was  on  a  plate.     I  ate 
it  all,  to  the  last  crumb. 

But  the  fish  did  not  bite.  Perhaps  the  sun  was  too 
bright.  As  the  time  wore  on,  I  began  to  get  restless. 
My  mounting  hunger  had  a  lot  to  do  with  it,  for  the  pie 
had  not  done  its  work  with  the  thoroughness  I  could 
have  wished.  It  had  been  good,  mighty  good,  but  it 
had  lacked  in  some  essential,  for  I  was  hungry  in  spite 
of  it. 

I  decided  to  go  home.  If  Rude  Hamilton  were  around 
she  would  give  me  something  to  eat,  for  while  she  was 
forever  grumbling,  I  had  learned  that  I  could  wheedle 
almost  anything  out  of  her. 

I  didn't  want  to  throw  the  bait  away,  for  I  might  want 
to  come  back  later.  Neither  did  I  want  to  leave  it  sit- 
ting in  the  sun,  for  it  would  dry.  But  I  did  not  want 
to  bother  with  the  can.  So  I  got  some  big  paw-paw 
leaves,  wrapped  the  worms  carefully  in  them,  and  put 
them  in  my  hip  pocket.  Then  I  started  for  home. 

•  They  were  all  in  the  living  room  when  I  arrived,  and 
everything  was  still.  Father's  deep  voice  made  the  only 
sound.  I  was  curious,  and  slipped  around  to  the  window 
where  I  could  peep  in.  The  people  were  standing  about 
the  walls,  very  rigid  and  tense.  Father's  back  was  to- 
ward me,  and  he  stood  facing  Margaret  and  Brooks. 
Hen  stood  proudly  up  by  Brooks,  and  Grace  was  by 
Margaret's  side.  Brooks  looked  very  striking  in  his 
black  suit,  and  Margaret — well,  I  hardly  knew  her.  She 
was  dressed  in  sheer  white,  and  held  in  her  hands  a 
large  bunch  of  white  roses.  Her  reddish  hair  was  piled 
high  on  her  head.  She  looked  very  dainty,  very  beauti- 
ful, and  as  I  looked  I  thought  she  swayed  slightly  to- 
ward Brooks. 

I  looked  on  until  father  stepped  back  slightly,  bowed, 
and  turned  to  the  guests  with  his  silly  smile.  And  I 


266          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

waited  to  hear  no  more.  I  had  heard  it;  knew  exactly 
what  he  would  say  and  how  he  would  say  it.  I  slipped 
into  the  kitchen. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  great  hubbub  inside.  All  began 
speaking  at  once,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me  from  the  general 
chattering.  And  then  mother  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  in. 

"Ben!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  horrified  whisper.  "You 
look  a  sight.  Now  you  go  in  and  put  on  your  clothes 
and  hurry  out  here." 

She  snapped  out  her  words  in  a  way  foreign  to  her. 

"But  I  can't  go  through  there." 

"Go  out  and  climb  through  the  window.    Hurry,  now." 

I  turned  wretchedly  away,  and  started  out. 

"Ben,  what  in  the  world  is  that  falling  out  of  your 
pocket.  Ben,  do  come  here !" 

I  went  toward  her  in  a  daze.  She  looked  both  per- 
plexed and  terrified.  I  could  not  think  what  the  matter 
was.  She  turned  me  around  sharply,  ran  her  hand  into 
my  hip  pocket,  and  jerked  it  out  again  with  a  grasp. 

"Ben,  what  have  you  got  in  there !" 

I  looked  miserably  down  at  the  floor,  and  saw  one  of 
the  big  fat  fish  worms  crawling  aimlessly  over  the  floor. 
It  stretched  out  until  it  became  very  thin,  waved  its 
head  vaguely,  and  then  bunched  up  its  body  and  crawled 
along.  I  stooped  over  and  picked  it  up,  the  while  clutch- 
ing my  pocket. 

"It's  just  some  fish  worms." 

"Well,  you  get  them  out  of  here!  Goodness!  What 
would  they  say  if  they  found  worms  crawling  about 
over  the  floor!" 

I  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  myself  in  the  little  glass 
as  I  hurried  out.  My  pants  were  streaked  with  mud; 
there  was  mud  on  my  feet  and  legs;  and  there  were 
blotches  of  custard  sticking  to  my  shirt. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          267 

Quickly  I  crawled  through  the  window  and  put  on 
my  best  clothes,  suit,  shoes  and  all.  By  the  time  I  was 
ready,  all  were  in  at  dinner.  They  seemed  in  great  good 
humour,  but  the  longer  they  staid  in  there,  the  lower  my 
spirits  sank.  It  was  only  after  everybody  had  finished 
that  I  finally  got  in. 

When  I  came  out,  some  had  gone,  and  the  others  were 
getting  ready.  For  many  had  a  long  way  to  go,  and  had 
to  get  home  before  dark. 

It  came  time  for  Margaret  to  go.  She  had  changed 
her  white  dress  for  a  dark  blue  suit.  Her  face  was  a 
study  in  mingled  happiness  and  regret.  For  Albert  Hol- 
lingshead  was  to  take  Margaret  and  Brooks  back  with 
him,  and  she  was  to  leave  us.  Brooks  was  jubilant.  He 
laughed  and  talked,  and  promised  to  come  back  every 
week  or  two.  He  wrung  father's  hand  and  kissed  mother 
good-bye. 

Margaret  went  up  to  mother.  She  laid  her  hands  on 
mother's  shoulders.  Mother's  arm  stole  about  her.  They 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a  long  time. 

"Good-bye,  honey,"  mother  said. 

"Good-bye,  Mammy,"  and  her  voice  broke  over  the 
name,  for  it  was  what  we  had  called  her  when  we  were 
all  young  together. 

Mother  stood  in  the  doorway  until  she  had  got  in  the 
little  spring  wagon,  waved  her  hand  in  farewell  as  they 
drove  down  the  road,  and  then  went  out  to  the  kitchen. 
She  seemed  utterly  broken.  She  went  into  the  little 
storage  room  and  closed  the  door. 


Chapter  22 

MOTHER  aged  greatly  during  the  next  few  weeks, 
in  spite  of  the  bubbling  letters  we  got  from  Mar- 
garet. Margaret  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  task  of 
furnishing  her  new  house,  and  from  the  accounts  she 
gave  us,  it  certainly  gave  promise  of  being  a  wonderful 
place.  But  even  this  did  not  serve  to  cheer  mother  up 
much.  Of  late  she  had  a  way  of  sitting  by  the  open 
window  and  looking  far  off  down  the  river.  She  sighed 
more  often  than  in  the  old  days.  She  looked  older,  too, 
much  older  than  she  had  a  few  years  back.  She  did 
not  flush  up  so  rosily  any  more,  and  her  eyes  had  lost 
a  lot  of  their  old  glow. 

Father  also  fell  into  the  habit  of  walking  the  floor  and 
whistling  his  dolorous  tune.  Really,  it  got  to  be  terrible 
about  the  house,  and  it  was  all  because  Margaret  had 
gone.  Those  last  few  months  she  had  been  so  perennially 
buoyant,  that  when  she  left  it  was  like  lifting  a  shaft  of 
sunlight  out  of  the  house.  Everything  got  darker. 

I  do  not  know  what  would  have  become  of  me  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  circus.  There  never  had  been  a 
circus  in  Barren  Rocks  before,  because  we  were  too  far 
from  the  railroad  and  the  roads  were  bad.  But  along  in 
the  early  part  of  August,  an  important  looking  man  ar- 
rived in  town. 

I  saw  him  when  he  first  arrived  at  the  store,  and  knew 
he  was  a  stranger.  For  one  thing,  he  wore  store  clothes 
on  a  week  day,  and  that  set  him  apart  as  a  marked  man. 

268 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          269 

And  instead  of  having  a  bunch  of  walnut  leaves  stuck 
in  the  top  of  the  horse's  bridle  to  keep  the  horseflies 
off,  little  nets  were  on  the  horse's  ears.  That  was  an- 
other strange  thing. 

He  drove  up  to  the  hitching  pole,  got  out,  hitched  his 
horse,  and  went  into  the  store. 

"Are  you  the  boss  here,  stranger?"  he  asked  Jess 
Harver.  Jess  had  taken  Brooks's  place  in  the  store. 

"I  guess  I  be  that,"  Jess  said. 

"I  am  advance  agent  for  the  Modern  Railroad  Shows. 
What  do  you  say  to  my  putting  up  some  posters  about 
here?" 

A  cunning  look  came  into  Jess's  eyes. 

"That  had  ought  to  be  worth  something,  I  reckon." 

"Sure.     I'll  give  you  five  tickets  for  the  show." 

"Will  they  admit  any  five  I  want  to  bring?" 

"Sure." 

"Give  'em  to  me." 

The  man  pulled  a  bunch  of  tickets  out  of  his  pocket, 
snapped  off  a  rubber  band  that  held  them  together,  and 
counted  off  five. 

"Here  they  are.    Now  where  will  I  post  'em  up?" 

Jess  walked  to  the  door.  Across  the  road  there  was 
a  little  house  where  flour  and  corn  where  stored.  It  was 
long  and  low,  and  right  by  the  side  of  the  road.  Jess 
pointed  to  it. 

"Over  there." 

The  man  asked  no  more  questions.  He  went  out  to 
his  buggy,  lifted  out  a  bucket  and  a  long  handled  brush 
and  carried  them  over  to  the  building.  He  made  a  trip 
back  and  got  out  a  bundle  of  paper  I  had  noticed  earlier. 
Carrying  it  over  to  the  building,  he  laid  it  down  on  the 
ground  and  unfolded  it.  What  I  saw  almost  took  my 
breath  away.  There  were  pictures  of  men  in  tights,  turn- 
ing handsprings,  walking  on  their  hands,  walking  wires 


270          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  ropes,  swinging  wildly  in  trapeze.  And  there  were 
women,  also  dressed  in  tights,  lying  on  their  backs  and 
kicking  big  balls  into  the  air.  There  was  one  wonderful 
picture  of  a  ventriloquist,  throwing  his  voice  into  two 
little  wooden  babies  he  held  on  his  knees. 

With  wonderful  skill  the  man  balanced  these  pictures 
on  his  brush  and  slapped  them  against  the  side  of  the 
building.  When  he  had  finished,  the  whole  side  of  the 
building  was  one  bewildering  vision  of  colour  and  marvel. 
Feats  I  had  never  dreamed  possible  were  actually  pic- 
tured before  me.  And  at  the  bottom,  in  white  letters 
on  a  red  background,  were  the  words,  "Modern  Rail- 
road Shows,  Barren  Rocks,  August  10." 

I  ran  home  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 

"Mother,  there's  going  to  be  a  show  up  in  the  school- 
house  bottom  the  tenth  of  August!" 

"What  kind  of  a  show?" 

"A  regular  show,  actors  all  dressed  up  to  walk  wires 
and  ropes  and  turn  handsprings,  and  everything." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"A  man  has  just  been  here  and  put  up  bill-posters 
about  it." 

Mother  was  delighted,  and  I  asked  her  whether  I 
could  go  to  it. 

"You  will  have  to  see  your  father  about  that,"  she 
said. 

That  was  the  one  thing  I  did  not  want  to  do.  I  never 
could  tell  how  a  thing  would  strike  father.  When  I 
had  got  my  first  pair  of  tan  shoes  without  paying  for 
them  in  full,  I  expected  he  would  make  an  awful  scene, 
but  he  seemed  delighted,  and  said  it  was  a  great  thing 
for  me  to  do.  But  when  I  had  a  fine  chance  to  trade 
my  gun  for  one  with  a  silver  bead,  one  that  looked 
better  than  mine,  and  would  really  shoot  farther,  he 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          271 

seemed  greatly  enraged,  and  said  absolutely  that  I  should 
not  make  the  trade. 

I  did  not  know  how  to  take  him.  He  might  be  as 
excited  over  the  show  as  I  was,  but  again  he  might 
think  it  wrong  to  go  to  it,  and  not  only  refuse  to  buy 
me  a  ticket,  but  forbid  my  working  for  admission.  But 
mother  said  I  would  have  to  ask  him  if  I  went,  and  ask 
him  I  did. 

"We  will  see  about  it,  son.  There  is  time  enough 
yet." 

That  was  worse  than  nothing.  If  he  had  said  flatly 
that  I  could  not  go,  I  would  have  been  nearly  killed, 
but  at  least  I  would  have  known  what  to  expect.  To  say 
that  he  would  see  about  it  meant  that  he  could  put  off 
telling  me  anything  until  the  very  day  of  the  show,  and 
then  decide  that  I  had  better  not  go. 

This  made  it  terribly  uncertain,  but  it  did  not  prevent 
me  from  looking  at  the  pictures  on  the  building.  I  stood 
in  front  of  them  by  the  hour,  and  got  to  know  them  so 
well  what  when  I  went  to  bed  at  night  I  could  shut  my 
eyes  and  see  them. 

The  tenth  of  August  arrived  at  last,  and  bright  and 
early  I  was  up  and  around.  I  might  not  be  able  to  see 
the  show,  but  I  could  watch  the  wagons  as  the  show 
arrived,  and  be  up  on  the  playground  to  see  the  tents 
go  up !  That  might  not  be  much,  but  it  would  be  some- 
thing well  worth  while. 

I  saw  the  first  wagon  as  it  came  slowly  up  the  river. 
Two  great  horses  were  pulling  it.  It  was  covered  with 
a  dirty  canvas  that  had  once  been  white.  Behind  it  were 
three  other  wagons,  all  heavily  loaded.  And  behind  the 
four  wagons  were  a  number  of  people  riding  horses. 
One  of  them,  a  boy,  was  riding  a  small  pony.  He  saw 
me  as  he  galloped  by,  and  straightened  importantly  in  his 
saddle.  Striking  his  pony  sharply  with  a  switch,  he 


272          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

went  by  with  a  flourish,  looking  back  at  me  arrogantly 
over  his  shoulder.  I  knew  very  well  he  was  trying  to 
show  off,  but  my  only  thought  was  that  if  I  could  have 
a  pony  like  that  and  belong  to  a  show,  nothing  else  in 
all  the  world  would  matter. 

The  big  tent  was  hoisted  up  on  the  playground,  and 
burly  men  with  heavy  sledges  drove  in  the  spikes  that 
made  it  fast.  Two  would  drive  a  spike  at  the  same 
time,  hitting  alternately  and  grunting  shortly  at  each 
stroke,  and  I  watched  them  as  though  they  were  creatures 
from  another  world.  They  were  heroes,  mighty  men, 
like  Gideon  and  his  three  hundred.  When  one  of  them 
called  to  me  to  get  busy  and  hand  him  a  spike  that  was 
near  me,  I  was  flattered  beyond  words,  and  would  have 
died  for  him  then  and  there. 

I  went  home  in  dread.  I  had  not  spoken  to  father  in 
the  morning,  for  fear  he  would  not  let  me  even  go  and 
watch  the  preparations.  But  I  had  to  speak  to  him  about 
the  show  proper,  because  the  admission  was  fifteen  cents, 
and  if  I  got  in  he  would  have  to  give  me  the  price  of  a 
ticket. 

But  I  found  him  in  great  good  humour.  He  was  stand- 
ing in  the  door  as  I  came  up,  and  he  had  on  his  white 
shirt,  just  like  it  was  Sunday.  He  called  out  heartily. 

"Hurry  up,  Ben,  and  get  ready.  We  are  all  going  to 
the  show." 

If  he  had  said  that  he  had  inside  information  to  the 
effect  that  I  had  not  sinned  away  my  day  of  grace,  but 
on  the  contrary  was  absolutely  certain  to  go  to  heaven 
when  I  died,  a  load  of  somewhat  long  standing  would 
have  been  lifted  from  me.  But  my  gratitude  in  that 
case  would  have  been  very  mild  compared  to  the  wild 
joy  that  surged  over  me  at  his  words.  I  felt  light,  and 
instead  of  coming  down  heavily  on  my  feet  when  I 
walked,  it  seemed  as  if  only  my  toes,  and  but  the  tips  of 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         273 

them,  touched  the  ground.  I  skipped  into  the  house  on 
air. 

Mother  came  out  of  the  bedroom  with  her  mouth  full 
of  pins,  and  told  me  to  wash  my  face  good  and  comb 
my  hair.  Slight  matters,  these,  when  I  knew  I  was  to  go 
to  the  show,  and  not  only  stand  outside  and  watch  the 
men  at  work,  but  go  inside  the  big  cool  tent,  with  its 
tiers  of  seats  and  mysterious  contrivances  in  the  centre, 
and  sit  there  through  all  the  gorgeous  performance ! 

On  the  way  up  to  the  playground  I  stopped  at  the 
poster  to  take  one  last  glance  at  the  pictures,  anticipating 
each  wonder  as  I  saw  it  pictured.  And  then  we  went  on 
up.  A  great  crowd  was  gathered  about.  A  man  was 
selling  lemonade  under  a  big  umbrella,  and  calling  out 
hoarsely  that  the  price  of  two  glasses  was  but  a  nickel, 
five  cents  or  half  a  dime,  as  the  purcheser  might  desire. 
I  felt  as  though  I  could  drink  not  only  two  glasses,  but 
all  he  had  in  the  great  jar  at  his  side,  but  I  knew  that 
I  had  only  two  cents,  and  it  was  in  a  big  two-cent  piece, 
mouldy  with  age.  I  wouldn't  have  had  it,  but  they  re- 
fused to  honour  it  at  the  store  for  more  than  one  cent, 
explaining  that  the  two-cent  pieces  were  no  longer  made. 
And  since  I  had  got  it  in  a  bargain  with  Bill  Hunter  for 
a  gold  nugget  stick-pin,  I  vowed  that  I  would  not  part 
with  it  except  at  face  value. 

There  were  so  many  things  to  see,  and  being  deter- 
mined not  to  miss  one  slightest  thing,  I  made  good  use 
of  sight  and,  smell  and  hearing.  The  cries  of  the  vend- 
ers, mingled  with  the  loud  imperious  voice  of  the  ticket 
seller  for  the  main  show,  made  noise  enough  even  for  me. 
The  smell  of  roasted  peanuts,  the  tent,  straw  spread  on 
the  ground  as  well  as  others  that  were  new  to  me  made 
a  combination  that  provided  me  both  with  the  joy  of 
recognition  and  the  baffling  pleasures  of  smells  unknown. 
And  while  it  is  properly  a  gastronomic  state  rather  than 


274          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

an  ocular,  the  only  fitting  description  is  that  my  eyes 
were  gorged.  Gorged  with  the  sight  of  familiar  faces 
of  people  standing  about  and  staring  as  I  did,  and  gorged 
with  sights  never  before  beheld! 

Perhaps  it  would  not  be  possible  to  say  with  abso- 
lute accuracy  that  a  boy  of  more  than  medium  height 
could,  without  any  previous  thought  of  the  feat  in- 
volved, bound  suddenly  into  the  air  as  high  as  his  head 
would  be  if  he  were  standing  flat-footed.  But  if  such 
a  thing  is  possible,  then  I  can  say  with  a  dead  cer- 
tainty that  I  did  it,  and  without  the  slightest  premedi- 
tation. I  was  standing  watching  with  open  mouth  a 
clown  up  near  the  ticket  seller,  distorting  his  body  out 
of  all  resemblance  to  the  normal  human  form,  when 
there  occurred  an  explosion  that  seemed  to  me  to  sur- 
pass in  violence  anything  I  had  ever  heard.  Even  the 
explosion  of  a  stick  of  dynamite  in  the  big  fishing  hole 
were  as  nothing  compared  to  it.  And  it  was  when  this 
unexpected  sound  struck  my  ears  that  I  performed  my 
record  high  jump.  Before  I  hit  the  ground,  a  second 
explosion  followed;  and  all  eyes  were  turned  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  sound. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  I  cried,  simply  terrified. 

"Come  on,  son.    It's  the  band  1"  and  we  edged  forward. 

I  learned  that  the  explosion  had  been  caused  by  the 
beating  of  a  big  drum,  a  form  of  musical  instrument  I 
had  never  seen  before,  and  of  whose  musical  properties  I 
have  ever  since  been  suspicious.  But  the  band  as  a  whole 
was  a  wonderful  affair.  My  interest  centred  especially 
in  a  large  fat  man  who  was  busily  engaged  in  blowing 
into  the  mouthpiece  of  a  great  horn.  His  cheeks  puffed 
out  perilously,  and  as  they  puffed  out  his  eyes  receded 
into  his  head  until  they  were  scarcely  visible.  I  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot,  expecting  him  to  burst  at  any  minute, 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          275 

and  resolved  that  when  he  did  I  should  be  on  hand  to  see 
the  sight.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  when  the  band 
ceased  and  he  still  remained  whole,  although  puffing 
rapidly. 

The  women  who  played  in  the  band  were  unlike  the 
women  in  Barren  Rocks.  Their  dresses  were  short,  the 
heels  of  their  shoes  were  slender  and  very  high,  and 
their  waists  were  very,  very  slim.  Their  faces,  where 
not  unusually  white,  were  very  pink.  They  fitted  nicely 
my  conception  of  what  the  wonderful  women  from  out 
in  the  world  should  look  like.  But  Rude  Hamilton  did 
not  share  my  opinion.  She  elbowed  over  to  mother. 

"It's  scandalous,  Sister.  Just  look  at  the  hussies  with 
their  painted  faces !" 

"Hush,  Sister,"  and  mother  shrank  away  from  her. 

I  heard  a  man  calling  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  before  the  big  show  opens  in- 
side, Charles  O'Down,  the  great  tight  wire  walker  of 
the  world,  will  give  us  his  wonderful  open-air  exhibition. 
Make  way,"  and  his  voice  indicated  plainly  that  in  our 
midst  was  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world.  We  made 
way. 

There  was  a  wire  stretched  from  a  stake  out  on  the 
playground  up  to  the  centre  pole  at  the  top  of  the  big 
tent.  When  the  crier  finished  speaking,  a  wonderful 
figure  in  tights,  with  a  beautiful  purple  girdle  about  his 
waist,  ran  nimbly  out  of  the  big  tent  and  to  the  base  of 
the  wire.  He  carried  a  long  polished  pole  in  his  hands, 
and  when  he  reached  the  stake,  he  bowed  to  us  and 
smiled.  He  grasped  the  pole  firmly  in  both  hands  and 
started  up  the  wire.  He  walked  clear  to  the  top  of  the 
tent,  turned,  and  came  back  down.  Now  he  stopped, 
bent  his  knees  until  both  touched  the  wire,  and  straight- 
ened up  again.  Or  he  stood  on  one  foot  and  stuck  the 


276          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

other  far  out  in  the  air.  I  thought  it  simply  wonderful. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  re-entered  the  big  tent,  and 
there  was  a  rush  for  admission  after  him. 

The  show  was  all  that  could  be  desired.  I  sat  on  a 
bench  and  watched  until  my  eyes  ached.  Wonderful 
men  performed  on  trapeze;  stout  women  laid  on  their 
backs  and  kicked  highly  coloured  balls  into  the  air;  and 
the  ventriloquist,  after  much  worry  and  patience,  finally 
succeeded  in  getting  his  little  wooden  babies  to  spell 
Constantinople.  During  an  exciting  performance  on  the 
trapeze,  the  actor  stopped  suddenly,  clutched  his  side  and 
fell  to  the  ground.  There  was  an  excited  gasp  from  the 
onlookers.  I  thought  the  man  had  fallen  and  hurt  him- 
self badly,  and  many  started  toward  him.  But  the  mild 
voice  of  old  Henry  Tolliver  recalled  them. 

"Don't  be  excited.  He's  done  it  every  day  yit,"  he 
said  with  great  relish. 

"Have  you  seen  it  before  ?"  some  one  asked. 

"I've  been  a  follerin'  'er  now  fer  four  days,"  he  said 
complacently. 

When  the  show  was  over  we  all  jostled  outside.  The 
men  who  were  selling  peanuts  and  lemonade  took  up 
again  their  hoarse  cry.  I  edged  over  toward  the  lemon- 
ade stand.  The  price  was  down.  Three  glasses  for  a 
nickel,  five  cents  or  half  a  dime,  still  as  the  purchaser 
might  desire.  I  edged  closer,  clutching  my  big  two-cent 
piece. 

"How  much  will  you  give  me  for  this?"  I  asked  the 
man,  holding  it  out  toward  him. 

"Two  glasses,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"Pour  it  out." 

He  filled  a  large  glass,  and  I  began  to  drink  it  down. 
There  was  no  ice  in  it  by  this  time,  and  it  was  warm,  but 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          277 

it  was  good.  I  held  back  the  empty  glass  to  have  it  re- 
filled. He  poured  it  full.  I  looked  around.  Ed  Rainey 
was  standing  near  me,  his  eyes'bulging.  I  put  the  glass  to 
my  lips  and  drained  the  last  drop. 

"Great  stuff,  Ed,"  I  said,  wiping  my  moutK. 


Chapter  23 

THE  day  after  the  show,  all  of  us  boys  were  up  at 
the  swimming  hole.     Charlie  Snowden  got  up  on 
the  rock  to  dive  into  the  water.    Just  as  he  was  nicely 
balanced,  with  his  hands  stretched  high  above  his  head, 
Hen  stopped  him.     Again  Hen  showed  his  originality. 

"Try  to  turn  a  handspring  like  the  man  yesterday, 
Charlie.  It  won't  hurt  in  the  water  if  you  don't  go  over." 

Charlie  took  to  the  idea.  He  readjusted  himself,  waved 
his  arms  to  get  the  proper  motion,  and  leaped  awkwardly 
into  the  air.  He  lit  in  the  water  on  his  back,  and  we 
all  laughed  at  him.  But  every  one  tried  the  same  thing. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  our  own  show. 

At  first,  our  efforts  were  somewhat  vague.  Each  felt 
at  liberty  to  try  anything  that  appealed  to  him,  and  fail- 
ing in  one  thing,  tried  another.  But  each  early  began 
to  manifest  special  adaptabilities.  Charlie  Snowden 
could  turn  handsprings  better  than  anybody  else;  Hen 
developed  an  ability  at  clog  dancing  that  beat  anything 
I  ever  saw;  Bill  Hunter  could  walk  a  rope,  a  little  un- 
certainly, it  is  true,  but  nevertheless  with  considerable 
dexterity;  while  I  walked  on  my  hands  with  ridiculous 
ease,  from  the  start.  Ed  Rainey  made  a  fine  general 
actor.  Grouchie  could  not  do  anything  well,  for  he  was 
frightfully  awkward.  So  we  decided  to  make  him  a 
clown.  He  did  look  funny  as  a  clown,  sprawling  awk- 
wardly about.  And  he  never  wanted  to  be  left  out  of 
anything. 

278 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          279 

We  practised  for  a  few  days  up  at  the  swimming  hole, 
for  even  when  we  did  fall,  it  didn't  hurt  in  the  water. 
But  when  we  became  more  confident,  we  moved  on 
down  the  creek  to  a  level  place  near  a  great  fallen  syca- 
more. We  chose  this  place  because  the  limbs  of  the 
sycamore  afforded  a  good  place  for  skinning  cats  and 
doing  other  things  like  that.  And  also  the  sycamore 
made  a  rather  comfortable  place  for  spectators  to  sit. 
For  Hen  afterwards  told  me  that  he  had  planned  the 
whole  thing  along  big  lines,  all  along,  though  he  would 
not  shoulder  the  responsibility  for  everything  that  hap- 
pened. 

It  was  great  fun.  We  stretched  a  big  rope  from  one 
tree  to  another;  put  up  a  trapeze  and  a  horizontal  bar; 
and  erected  a  little  platform  for  Hen's  clog  dancing. 
And  here  we  practised  every  spare  hour  we  could  get. 

There  was  but  one  thing  lacking  to  make  everything 
perfect — a  band.  Of  course  we  could  not  get  a  real 
band,  but  Hen  found  a  way  around  the  difficulty  by 
persuading  Herb  Ellanger  to  play  his  banjo  for  us. 

And  after  we  had  practised  everything  until  there  was 
nothing  more  to  learn ;  and  after  Herb  had  worked  over 
his  banjo  until  he  could  rattle  off  tunes  fast  enough  for 
Hen's  fastest  dance,  we  announced  our  first  public  per- 
formance for  the  following  Saturday  afternoon.  " 

We  planned  an  elaborate  programme.  I  was  to  walk 
on  my  hands ;  Hen  was  to  dance  on  the  platform  where 
his  feet  would  crack ;  Bill  Hunter  was  scheduled  to  walk 
the  big  cable;  and  Charlie  was  to  turn  his  handsprings, 
and  also  hold  by  his  toes  on  the  trapeze.  In  some  un- 
usual way  he  was  able  to  hold  himself  up  with  his 
toes,  and  so  amazing  was  his  success  that  we  featured 
him  in  this  act.  Grouchie  was  to  be  clown,  and  we  were 
to  paint  his  face  with  poke  berries,  and  dress  him  up 
in  Henrietta's  old  dress. 


280          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

We  were  all  on  hand  after  an  early  dinner.  And 
about  three  the  spectators  began  to  arrive  and  line  them- 
selves up  on  the  big  sycamore.  The  performers  were 
hid  from  the  public  gaze,  out  behind  a  clump  of  elders, 
and  as  time  should  come  for  each  one's  act,  he  was  to 
run  nimbly  out  in  close  imitation  of  the  great  Charles 
O'Down. 

Herb  Ellanger  tuned  up  his  banjo,  broke  raucously 
into  the  "Sourwood  Mountains"  and  the  show  was  on! 
Charlie  Snowden  came  first  on  the  programme,  and  as  he 
ran  nimbly  out,  was  greeted  with  wild  applause.  Jump- 
ing up  and  down  a  few  times  as  if  testing  the  solidity 
of  the  earth  beneath  him  and  finding  it  as  desired,  he 
swung  agilely  backwards,  describing  a  wide  arch,  and 
turned  completely  over  and  lit  on  his  feet.  The  specta- 
tors agreed  as  one  man  that  it  was  good,  and  instantly  de- 
manded more.  He  turned  more  handsprings  backward, 
and  turned  handsprings  forward.  He  was  red  in  the 
face  and  apoplectic,  but  he  was  clearly  drunk  with  ap- 
plause. He  performed  on  and  on.  Hen  finally  stepped 
from  behind  the  elders  and  waved  frantically  for  him 
to  go  on  to  his  act  on  the  trapeze.  Charlie  saw  and  un- 
derstood. He  walked  to  the  trapeze  like  a  conquering 
hero.  He  swung  nimbly  up,  fell  over  forward,  and 
caught  by  his  toes.  He  hooked  his  long  bony  toes  over 
the  trapeze  bar,  straightened  out  his  knees,  and  bent  his 
body  up  to  look  at  himself.  The  crowd  was  delighted. 
Then  he  dropped  down  and  trotted  nimbly  back  to  the 
elders. 

In  order  not  to  have  all  the  good  acting  coming  at 
once,  we  had  arranged  for  some  funny  acts  in  between. 
One  of  these  was  by  Grouchie  and  me.  He  was  to  be 
a  dentist,  and  for  this  purpose  had  borrowed  a  giant  pair 
of  tongs  of  the  blacksmith.  I  was  to  go  to  him  to  have  a 
tooth  pulled,  and  had  provided  myself  with  an  uneven 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          281 

wooden  tooth.  And  to  make  the  scene  more  realistic, 
I  was  to  fill  my  mouth  with  red  apple  jelly.  We  figured 
that,  if  I  filled  my  mouth  with  it,  I  could  make  an  awful 
scene  when  my  tooth  was  pulled,  by  letting  the  red 
apple  juice  run  out  of  my  mouth. 

Just  before  the  act  I  filled  my  mouth  with  it  and  the 
wooden  tooth.  It  was  hard  work  to  keep  all  the  juice 
in  without  swallowing  it,  and  when  I  wanted  to  say 
something  I  had  to  turn  back  my  head  and  gurgle.  But 
I  managed  it  someway. 

When  the  time  came,  Grouchie  went  out  and  sat  down 
by  a  wooden  block.  I  soon  followed  him,  walking  un- 
steadily, as  if  in  great  pain.  I  sat  down  and  laid  my 
head  on  the  block.  Grouchie  wasn't  very  careful  with 
the  tongs,  and  they  grated  terribly  over  my  real  teeth. 
But  he  managed  to  get  them  fastened  firmly  on  the  great 
wooden  tooth,  and  yanked  it  out.  I  groaned  horribly, 
and  turned  over  on  my  side  so  every  one  could  see  my 
face. 

Grouchie  stood  over  me,  tongs  in  his  hand,  watching 
intently.  But  as  the  apple  juice  ran  out  of  my  mouth,  he 
bent  over  quickly. 

"Get  up,  Ben,"  he  whispered.  "It's  not  running  out 
red,  at  all." 

I  got  up  hastily,  and  we  ran  out  behind  the  elders. 

Hen's  clog  dance  came  last.  By  nature  he  was  fitted 
for  the  part.  His  legs  were  long,  and  when  they  were 
weighted  down  by  his  long  shoes,  the  way  he  could  wave 
them  around  was  a  show  in  itself.  He  could  relax  his 
body  until  every  part  of  it  seemed  to  join  in  the  dancing. 

He  stepped  out  on  the  platform,  bowed,  and  stood  for 
a  moment,  as  if  getting  ready.  Herb  started  in  on  "Sour- 
wood  Mountains"  at  a  pace  that  fairly  reeled.  Then  Hen 
really  woke  up. 

His  whole  body  relaxed,  his  long  legs  began  to  shuf- 


282          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

fle  to  the  music,  and  the  big  shoes  came  down  on  the 
boards  in  a  veritable  uproar.  He  waved  his  arms  wildly 
over  his  head,  his  body  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  wild 
abandon,  he  reeled  to  and  fro  like  a  drunken  man,  but 
ever  his  feet  came  down  in  rhythmic  time  with  the  banjo. 

I  had  never  seen  him  acquit  himself  with  such  marvel- 
lous skill.  I  stood  watching  him  in  fascination.  At  first 
the  spectators  from  the  sycamore  looked  on  unmoved; 
then  they  began  to  take  a  more  personal  interest ;  and  at 
last  they  swung  down  from  the  seat,  hugged  each  other, 
and  began  to  dance.  Over  and  above  it  all,  the  rhythmic 
and  contagious  clatter  of  Hen's  big  shoes  could  be  heard ; 
and  Hen  himself,  looking  on  the  wild  demonstration  as  a 
tribute  to  his  own  art,  redoubled  his  efforts. 

The  whole  show  broke  up  amidst  the  wildest  con- 
fusion. Some  shouted  their  exuberance  to  the  heavens  ; 
others  hugged  each  other  in  maudlin  joy.  While  some 
went  so  far  as  to  declare  soberly  that  we  should  go  on 
the  road  with  the  show. 

We  took  up  a  collection  just  at  the -proper  moment, 
and  got  enough  to  buy  a  uniform  for  each  actor.  We 
got  the  material,  and  had  the  uniforms  made  during  the 
ensuing  week,  and  were  on  hand  for  a  second  perform- 
ance the  following  Saturday  afternoon. 

For  a  few  weeks  the  crowd  was  good,  and  the  collec- 
tions encouraging.  Some  faithful  ones  came  every  Sat- 
urday, and  spread  the  news  so  widely  that  new  spectators 
lined  the  sycamore  at  each  performance.  But  it  was  not 
long  until  attendance  dwindled,  and  the  sycamore  was 
almost  bare.  We  did  all  we  could  to  keep  up  interest, 
but  we  worked  at  heavy  odds. 

One  of  Harrison  Applebee's  old  cows  had  seen  fit  to 
wander  out  behind  the  sycamore  and  die.  A  protest  was 
made  to  Harrison  that  he  ought  to  drag  the  animal  away 
and  bury  her.  And  he  declared  that  he  would  do  just 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          283 

that,  if  she  were  on  anybody's  private  land.  But  the 
spot  happened  to  be  on  an  unclaimed  tract  that  skirted 
the  sandy  bars  of  the  creek,  and  he  therefore  consid- 
ered himself  absolved  from  any  responsibility  in  the 
matter.  The  members  of  the  show  met  and  discussed 
the  proposition,  and  decided  as  one  man  that  it  would 
represent  a  policy  of  enlightened  self-interest  to  bury  the 
cow.  But  while  each  one  favoured  the  general  idea 
strongly,  none  seemed  willing  to  take  the  initiative  in  any 
definite  steps. 

And  as  the  weather  continued  to  be  very  warm,  it  was 
perfectly  evident  that  some  one  had  neglected  his  duty. 
The  sycamore  tree  could  not  truthfully  be  called  a 
pleasant  place  to  spend  a  warm  afternoon. 

There  were  other  complications.  And  it  was  Hen's 
dance  that  made  them.  Perhaps,  if  taken  by  itself,  there 
could  have  been  nothing  about  it  to  which  exception 
would  be  taken.  He  was  a  trifle  wild,  of  course,  but  not 
more  so  than  his  liberties  as  an  actor  would  justify. 

But  it  was  the  effect  his  act  never  failed  to  produce 
upon  the  spectators.  It  seemed  to  carry  them  clear  off 
their  feet,  and  be  the  general  signal  for  a  free-for-all, 
old-fashioned  dance.  It  might  have  made  some  difference 
if  Hen  had  not  been  the  minister's  son.  But  as  it  was,  it 
got  to  be  whispered  around  that  the  show  was  getting  to 
be  the  meeting  place  for  the  wicked  and  unregenerate 
element  of  the  country,  and  Hen's  name  was  mentioned 
among  the  ringleaders. 

The  result  was  that  father  took  him  aside  one  day 
and  had  a  very  long  and  very  pointed  conversation  with' 
him.  I  watched  them,  and  saw  Hen  shaking  his  head, 
as  if  in  strong  disavowal.  But  from  that  day  the  show 
lost  two  of  its  performers,  and  soon  dwindled  away. 


Chapter  24 

HE  crickets  and  katydids  had  been  silenced  by  Jack 
A  Frost  before  our  school  began,  but  on  the  opening 
day  I  gathered  up  the  books  that  Hen  had  used,  and 
Margaret  after  him,  and  went  to  school  alone. 

The  teacher  assigned  the  seats  on  the  first  day,  and 
when  he  gave  me  mine,  I  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  one  Hien  had  called  his  own  during  my  first  year 
in  school.  The  thought  was  not  altogether  pleasant.  It 
turned  my  mind  back  over  the  years  to  the  day  I  had 
first  entered  the  house  as  a  scholar.  How  different 
many  things  now  were,  and  how  alike  were  others! 
There  were  the  same  pine  benches,  hewn  from  the 
straight  trees  that  grew  so  near  the  playground.  Smooth 
on  top  where  they  had  been  carefully  gone  over  with  the 
broad-axe,  they  were  rough  underneath  where  the  knots 
had  been  smoothed  off.  The  blackboard  was  the  same. 
Three  men  had  been  hired  to  make  it  years  before.  They 
had  gone  to  a  slate  quarry  down  the  river,  picked  out 
a  great  ledge  of  slate,  and  sawed  a  piece  from  it.  It 
was  this  piece  that  made  our  blackboard,  and  it  was 
rough  where  the  saw  had  cut  into  it.  Even  the  same 
eraser  was  used  that  had  been  procured  during  my  first 
year  in  school.  It  was  a  rough  piece  of  sheep  skin  that 
an  old  scholar  had  got  at  home. 

But  while  these  things  were  the  same,  as  well  as  the 
great  stove  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  red  with  rust 
and  cracked  down  the  lower  front,  hardly  anything  else 

284 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         285 

was  the  same.  There  was  a  new  teacher,  a  young  man 
that  the  trustees  had  brought  in  to  teach  our  school. 
This  was  his  first  year,  and  he  went  at  his  work  in  a 
different  way  from  that  to  which  we  had  been  accus- 
tomed. Hen  was  gone.  He  had  been  away  to  school 
for  four  years  and  was  now  on  his  fifth.  He  was  likely 
to  be  a  teacher  himself  next  year.  Margaret  was  gone 
and  the  seat  she  had  occupied  in  the  years  gone  by  was 
empty  now.  It  was  back  near  the  water  bucket,  and 
when  I  saw  it  was  empty,  I  thought  of  Margaret  with 
a  wave  of  homesickness. 

Ed  Rainey,  Bill  Hunter  and  Charlie  Snowden  had 
dropped  out  the  year  before.  They  had  said  they  were 
too  big  to  go  to  school  any  more,  and  had  staid  at  home 
to  help  with  the  work. 

As  it  was,  I  was  now  one  of  the  "older  pupils."  How 
I  had  envied  the  older  ones  on  my  first  year !  And  how 
I  had  coveted  their  privileges,  and  been  jealous  of  their 
intimacy  with  the  teacher!  But  now  I  found  myself 
almost  alone,  one  of  the  oldest  boys  in  school,  without  a 
seat  mate  or  any  one  to  play  with  at  noon  except  the 
smaller  scholars.  As  I  thought,  I  grew  more  lonely,  and 
simply  could  not  put  my  mind  to  my  studies. 

It  was  also  lonely  at  home  when  winter  set  in.  During 
the  summer  when  I  could  get  out  whenever  I  wanted  to, 
I  had  not  missed  Margaret  at  all.  But  she  had  had  a 
habit  of  reading  to  us  out  of  the  books  Brooks  would 
bring  her,  and  I  found  myself  missing  her  and  her  read- 
ing on  many  a  long  winter  evening. 

But  I  was  not  entirely  alone.  There  was  Little  Anne. 
At  first  my  feeling  toward  her  had  been  of  dislike.  She 
was  so  little  and  ugly  that  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
think  kindly  of  her.  But  as  she  grew  older,  this  feeling 
changed  to  one  of  mild  curiosity.  The  way  she  wad- 
dled about  when  she  tried  to  walk  was  really  funny. 


286          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

And  I  could  also  see  that  she  did  look  cute  when  she 
had  just  one  tooth  in  all  her  mouth.  It  was  very  white 
and  round,  and  when  she  smiled  it  looked  very  nice. 
She  had  a  way  of  doubling  up  her  fists  and  striking  out 
wildly,  that  amused  me.  Altogether  she  was  a  curiosity 
that  I  welcomed  as  one  of  the  very  interesting  things  in 
life. 

But  as  she  got  older  she  developed  into  a  veritable 
nuisance.  She  was  always  on  the  point  of  falling  into 
the  fire,  or  swallowing  a  knitting-needle,  or  rolling  off 
the  bed,  or  any  one  of  a  thousand  very  dangerous  and  un- 
reasonable things.  Now,  mother  couldn't  watch  her  all 
the  time.  She  had  to  make  the  beds  and  get  dinner, 
and  do  any  one  of  a  number  of  things.  And  since  father 
was  away  quite  a  bit,  especially  in  the  winter  when  he 
had  so  many  meetings  to  hold,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  take 
care  of  Little  Anne.  I  complained  to  mother  on  one 
occasion  that  the  child  was  positively  devilish,  and  con- 
trived all  these  heathen  practices  solely  to  aggravate  and 
worry  us.  Mother  was  shocked,  and  explained  with 
some  heat  that  the  baby  did  not  know  any  better,  and 
that  I  had  been  as  bad  if  not  worse  when  I  was  little. 
But  without  some  positive  evidence  to  this  effect,  I  was 
inclined  strongly  to  disbelieve  her. 

Little  Anne  had  a  way  of  getting  into  the  kitchen  and 
fingering  the  dead  ashes  in  the  cook  stove.  Nor  was  she 
content  merely  with  feeling  them.  She  had  an  insane 
desire  to  try  to  eat  everything  she  got  her  hands  on, 
and  the  ashes  were  no  exception.  Now  dead  wood 
ashes,  properly  distributed  over  a  moist  skin,  will  pro- 
duce an  effect  that  for  genuine  dirt  leaves  little  to  be 
desired.  And  when  Little  Anne  would  get  to  the  stove 
in  spite  of  my  vigilance  and  smear  herself  over  thor- 
oughly, she  was  simply  awful. 

And  there  was  another  thing.     When  mother  had  a 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         287 

large  tablecloth  on  the  table,  the  corners  of  it  would 
hang  down  pretty  low.  While  she  seemed  to  have  no 
definite  object  in  view,  Little  Anne  would  invariably  make 
for  the  corner  of  this  tablecloth,  seize  it  firmly  and 
pull  and  saw  on  it  for  all  the  world  like  a  young  pup 
a-hold  of  a  horse  blanket.  And  if  I  did  not  reach  her 
in  time  there  was  danger  of  her  pulling  both  the  cloth 
and  the  dishes  on  it  off  on  the  floor. 

She  seemed  to  understand  that  I  had  been  set  over  her 
as  a  protector,  and  from  complete  incorrigibility  at  first, 
she  developed  a  kind  of  stubborn  affection  for  me.  She 
began  to  follow  me  around.  This  made  matters  very 
awkward.  When  I  used  to  start  off  with  Hen  and  he 
did  not  want  me  to  go,  he  would  say  that  I  had  to  go 
back  to  the  house,  and  I  went.  But  Little  Anne  was 
not  old  enough  to  understand  properly  what  was  said  to 
her,  and  try  as  I  might,  I  was  unable  to  make  her  see 
that  I  did  not  want  her  toddling  around  after  me.  If 
she  could  have  kept  it  up  independently  I  would  not 
have  minded  so  much.  But  that  was  the  trouble.  She 
would  start  out  briskly,  follow  me  for  quite  a  distance 
in'  spite  of  my  protests,  and  then  invariably  she  would 
fall  down.  And  when  she  fell  down  and  began  to 
scream,  there  was  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  either 
had  to  carry  her  back  to  the  house  and  stay  there  with 
her,  or  carry  her  with  me  wherever  I  went. 

The  boys  got  to  noticing  it.  They  did  not  say  much, 
for  some  of  them  had  had  to  do  the  same  thing.  But 
I  knew  matters  could  not  go  on  like  this  indefinitely 
without  something  being  said.  And  I  was  right.  They 
took  to  calling  me  Mother  Ben,  and  it  was  not  until  I  had 
whaled  the  life  out  of  a  few  of  them  that  the  affair 
was  hushed  up. 

Little  Anne  was  the  greatest  cross  I  ever  had  to  bear. 
It  was  only  after  the  supper  dishes  were  washed,  and 


288          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

mother  had  come  into  the  living  room  for  the  evening, 
that  I  could  get  any  lasting  relief.  By  that  time  it  was 
usually  too  late  to  go  anywhere  for  the  evening.  Even 
had  it  not  been,  I  was  so  harried  by  the  intolerable  pro- 
tectorship of  the  day  that  I  felt  more  inclined  to  go 
wearily  to  bed  than  to  do  anything  else. 

Our  school  was  not  graded.  The  only  progressive 
studies  were  the  readers.  There  were  six  of  them.  The 
pupil  started  in  the  first  and  went  on  to  the  sixth.  And 
when  he  had  read  McGuffy's  Eclectic  Sixth  Reader,  he 
was  through  with  school.  Grammer,  of  course,  changed 
some.  There  was  a  primary  and  an  advanced  text,  but 
the  time  of  leaving  one  for  the  other  was  indefinite.  As 
a  rule  though,  the  student  kept  on  with  the  primary  until 
he  could  recite  the  lessons  without  any  effort  whatever, 
and  then  he  was  put  in  the  advanced  class,  where  he  re- 
mained until  he  left  school.  The  same  was  true  of  arith- 
metic, geography,  history  and  physiology.  There  were 
two  books  in  each  subject,  the  primary  and  the  advanced, 
and  on  leaving  the  primary  one  kept  on  with  the  ad- 
vanced until  through  with  school  altogether.  And  be- 
sides these  studies  there  were  no  others. 

I  had  not  taken  to  school  as  Hen  had.  It  seemed  the 
very  breath  of  his  life.  He  would  sit  up  at  home  until 
long  into  the  night  working  hard  on  his  arithmetic.  And 
he  knew  his  history  and  grammar  and  physiology  almost 
by  heart.  But  the  books  did  not  seem  to  interest  me 
greatly.  Physiology  was  fair,  and  I  thought  it  great 
fun  to  trace  all  the  muscles  and  blood  vessels  of  the  body. 
I  could  name  all  the  bones  in  the  body  as  glibly  as  I 
could  say  my  own  name,  but  I  was  greatly  exercise3 
over  an  apparent  division  of  opinion  as  to  the  number 
of  bones  in  the  body.  My  book  said  there  were  two 
hundred  and  six,  and  I  knew  the  name  of  every  one  of 
them.  But  the  teacher  had  explained  that  this  point  was 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          289 

not  finally  settled;  that  there  might,  in  short,  be  two 
hundred  and  eight  bones  in  the  body.  I  could  not  for 
the  life  of  me  see  how  any  one  could  make  a  miscount 
in  such  an  important  matter;  and  wondered  why  the 
authorities  did  not  get  a  skeleton  and  go  over  the  bones 
together.  But  the  teacher  threw  as  much  doubt  over 
the  whole  question  as  he  could. 

There  was  another  thing  about  the  physiology  that 
got  me  into  difficulties.  At  the  end  of  each  chapter, 
whether  that  chapter  dealt  with  the  muscles  or  the  teeth 
or  the  nervous  system  or  what  not,  there  was  a  long 
paragraph  or  two  setting  forth  the  injurious  effects  of 
tobacco  upon  that  particular  part  of  the  body.  The  case 
was  made  pretty  strong — the  heart,  arteries,  veins  and 
capillaries  being  particularly  susceptible.  And  a  tobacco 
chewer  was  liable  to  about  every  kind  of  horrible  disease 
we  had  ever  heard  of,  from  toothache  and  cancer  of 
the  mouth  to  quick  consumption. 

I  had  smoked  a  little  before,  but  had  not  chewed. 
Chewing  never  appealed  to  me  as  a  very  enjoyable  thing, 
and  it  was  apt  to  be  a  little  bit  dirty,  especially  for  a  man 
with  a  beard.  But  the  physiology  would  not  let  a  day  go 
by  without  opening  up  the  whole  question  of  tobacco  in 
every  form.  And  at  last  my  curiosity  was  aroused. 
What  did  the  stuff  taste  like,  anyway?  It  must  surely 
be  strong,  to  cause  such  terrible  results. 

I  knew  where  to  find  some  at  home.  Back  in  the  little 
storage  room  there  were  eight  or  ten  long  twists  of  the 
natural  leaf.  Harrison  Applebee  grew  tobacco  on  his 
farm,  and  he  had  given  father  some  of  it  The  leaves 
had  been  stemmed  carefully,  and  the  twists  made.  They 
were  big  at  one  end,  and  tapered  down  to  a  point  at  the 
other.  I  slipped  one  of  them  out  and  went  up  on  the  hill 
to  experiment.  I  held  the  twist  in  my  hand  at  first,  feel- 
ing it  over  curiously.  Then  I  smelled  of  it.  It  was  dry 


290          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  as  I  whiffed  it  some  of  the  little  powdered  pieces 
snuffed  up  my  nose.  I  coughed  violently. 

The  first  sensation  when  I  took  a  chew  of  it  in  my 
mouth  was  that  it  was  hot.  It  seemed  to  burn  my  lips. 
I  rolled  it  around  with  my  tongue.  I  hoped  the  first  time 
I  should  spit  that  it  would  be  a  rich,  dark  brown.  But  it 
was  not  so.  And  by  the  time  I  had  succeeded  in  pro- 
ducing the  proper  shade  of  colour,  my  interest  in  the 
whole  affair  had  waned  noticeably.  I  felt  a  churning  sen- 
sation in  my  stomach,  and  a  light  giddy  dancing  just 
above  my  eyes.  I  groaned,  but  that  did  not  help  matters. 
The  world  became  dark  and  sombre;  and  objects  that  a 
few  minutes  ago  were  bright,  had  changed  to  a  dull  yel- 
low. I  locked  my  fingers  and  put  my  hands  against  my 
stomach,  in  the  hope  that  I  could  still  the  tempest  that  evi- 
dently was  raging  there.  I  doubled  up,  bringing  my 
knees  and  chest  just  as  close  together  as  possible.  My 
head  swam.  I  thought  I  should  die  immediately,  and  it 
did  not  help  any  when  a  thought  of  my  future  state 
flashed  through  my  mind,  to  reflect  that  it  was  wrong 
to  chew  tobacco.  My  stomach  did  not  cease  its  gyrations, 
but  rather  became  more  insistent.  It  seemed  to  be  beat- 
ing against  its  confining  boundaries,  struggling  to  liberate 
itself  into  a  more  comprehensive  field.  One  of  its  lunges 
for  liberty  was  straight  in  the  direction  of  my  mouth. 
The  fury  of  the  thing  bent  me  over  double,  but  I  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  open  my  mouth  and  set  the 
prisoner  free. 

When  I  at  last  stood  up,  the  whole  question  of  poise 
that  I  had  mastered  when  learning  to  walk,  and  since 
relegated  to  the  purely  habitual  forms  of  action,  had  to 
be  taken  up  again.  I  was  unsteady  on  my  legs;  and 
familiar  objects  had  a  way  of  side-stepping  nimbly  when 
I  went  to  place  a  hand  against  them.  When  I  would 
put  my  foot  firmly  down  to  advance,  it  would  not  neces- 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          291 

sarily  go  where  I  had  intended  it.  Just  as  likely  as  not 
it  would  shoot  far  out  to  one  side,  throwing  me  com- 
pletely off  my  balance.  Objects  that  in  my  saner  mo- 
ments had  always  been  fixed,  reeled  around  with  such 
fantastic  abandon  that  I  was  completely  bewildered. 

But  at  last  the  external  world  began  to  take  on  a 
more  stable  form,  and  the  world  inside  fell  back  into  the 
old  rut.  I  was  myself  again.  Carefully  I  made  my  way 
to  the  back  room,  and  slipped  the  remainder  of  the  twist 
back  with  the  others.  When  I  laid  it  down,  a  heavy 
odour  of  strong  tobacco  smote  my  nostrils.  I  felt  again 
the  terrible  symptoms.  Straightening  up  quickly,  I  fled 
out  of  the  room. 

And  the  next  day,  when  I  read  in  the  physiology  that 
tobacco  has  a  tendency  to  stiffen  the  arteries,  I  knew 
that  tobacco  has  a  tendency  to  do  many  other  things  not 
mentioned  in  the  book. 

The  school  year  was  drawing  to  a  close  when  we  got 
a  very  interesting  letter  from  Hen.  He  had  finished 
the  Seminary  the  year  before,  and  had  gone  back  for 
another  year  to  take  a  normal  course,  since  he  could  live 
with  Margaret  and  it  would  not  cost  much.  He  was  in- 
tending to  teach  a  year  or  two,  and  then  go  on  to  col- 
lege. He  was  to  be  a  Doctor,  father  said.  The  letter 
we  got  was  jubilant.  He  had  just  heard  from  the  trus- 
tees that  he  had  been  given  the  High  Hill  school  for 
the  following  year. 

The  High  Hill  school  was  not  far  from  our  house, 
and  Hen  could  teach  it  and  board  at  home.  It  was  the 
school  Jane  Ellanger  had  attended  when  she  went  to 
school. 

Jane  was  at  our  house  when  the  letter  came.  She 
had  taken  to  coming  down  to  our  house  almost  every 
day  that  winter.  She  said  it  got  so  lonesome  up  at  home 
that  she  just  had  to  get  out  somewhere.  Mother  liked 


292          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

to  have  her  do"wn,  for  while  she  never  said  much,  I  could 
see  she  had  never  got  used  to  Margaret's  being  away. 
And  Jane  helped  some. 

Jane's  cheeks  were  naturally  red,  but  they  got  redder 
when  father  read  the  letter  from  Hen.  I  thought  her 
fingers  trembled  a  little  as  she  stitched  away  on  some- 
thing she  was  making. 

And  mother's  spirits  went  up  from  that  hour.  Her 
face  even  flushed  up  as  it  had  in  the  old  days,  and  her 
eyes  had  a  little  of  the  old  glow  in  them.  And  she  and 
Jane  were  together  even  more  than  ever  after  that. 

The  day  before  our  school  closed,  I  gathered  all  my 
books  together  to  carry  them  home.  We  never  left  them 
until  the  last  day,  for  there  was  such  confusion  then 
that  it  was  never  safe  to  leave  anything  around  loose. 
I  got  my  reader,  grammar,  geography,  history,  physiology 
and  arithmetic.  Then  there  were  my  slate  and  tablet. 
The  slate  and  geography  were  very  broad,  and  were  hard 
to  carry.  But  I  got  all  my  things  together,  and  started 
home. 

I  had  been  looking  forward  a  little  to  finishing  school 
for  good,  for  it  was  hard  to  stay  inside  and  study  when 
everything  outside  was  so  interesting  and  beautiful.  But 
as  I  walked  out  of  the  door,  it  struck  me  with  new  force 
that  I  had  spent  my  last  year  in  the  old  schoolhouse.  I 
should  never  again  return  as  a  scholar. 

I  walked  down  the  playground,  past  the  little  mound 
where  the  pitcher  stood,  on  to  the  high  bank  down  which 
we  slid  at  the  last  recess,  down  to  the  narrow  foot  log 
over  Little  Creek  across  which  we  had  had  to  coon  on 
icy  mornings.  And  it  was  not  such  a  gladsome  farewell 
as  I  had  expected. 

A  few  days  later,  Hen  came  home,  looking  tall  and 
handsome.  I  was  very  proud  of  him  as  he  stood  in  the 
living  room,  with  his  hair  neatly  cut,  and  brushed  closely 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          293 

down  against  his  head.  He  looked  very  smart  and  in- 
telligent. And  Jane  quit  coming  down. 

One  day  not  long  after  he  came  home,  Hen  went  up 
for  Jane  and  took  her  out  for  a  boat  ride.  They  were  to 
go  far  up  the  river,  with  him  rowing  while  she  trolled. 
It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  when  they  set  out;  and  I 
stood  on  the  bank  and  watched  them  until  they  disap- 
peared round  the  bend. 

It  was  only  a  few  hours  afterward  that  the  sky  be- 
came overcast  and  lowering,  and  not  long  after  that  there 
came  up  one  of  the  swift,  terrible  storms  that  swooped 
down  upon  us  at  times.  In  great  rolling  sheets  the  rain 
swept  down  the  bottom,  and  soon  the  little  rivulets  came 
roaring  down  the  mountainsides,  and  emptied  their  mud- 
dy contents  into  the  river. 

In  the  midst  of  the  downpour  Hen  and  Jane  came 
home.  They  were  both  dripping  wet,  but  hilariously 
happy.  Their  muffled  laughter  reached  us  long  before 
they  were  at  the  landing.  Hen  took  Jane  straight  home, 
and  came  back  himself  in  a  little  while.  His  lips  were 
blue  and  a  little  drawn,  but  his  spirits  were  high. 

"Did  you  get  very  wet,  son  ?"  mother  asked  anxiously. 

"Do  I  look  it  ?"  and  he  brushed  the  water  from  the  end 
of  his  nose. 

"I  hope  Jane  didn't  get  chilled." 

"Not  so  that  I  could  notice  it." 

He  seemed  greatly  elated,  and  mother  glanced  over  at 
father  significantly.  He  grinned  back  at  her.  Hen  went 
into  the  bedroom  and  changed  his  clothes.  When  he 
came  back  out  he  still  seemed  tremendously  elated,  as  if 
at  the  possession  of  some  secret  information. 

But  when  he  came  back  from  Ellangers'  the  next  af- 
ternoon, he  looked  greatly  disturbed. 

"Jane's  not  feeling  so  well,"  he  said  to  mother. 

"Is  she  sick  from  getting  wet  ?" 


294          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

He  nodded,  and  went  quickly  out. 

It  was  a  week  afterward  that  Herb  came  to  our  door. 

"Wish  you  would  come  up  and  see  Jane,  Mrs.  Rhodes," 
he  said. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  but  mother  hurried  away. 
Father  got  supper  that  night,  and  after  supper  he  went 
up,  also.  I  was  in  bed  when  he  came  back,  and  it  was 
not  until  the  next  day  that  I  learned  what  the  trouble 
was. 

Pneumonia.  Poor  Jane!  For  weeks  she  lay  at  the 
point  of  death,  sometimes  raving  in  delirium,  sometimes 
so  still  that  her  breathing  was  hardly  perceptible.  It  was 
in  her  delirium  that  she  called  loudly  and  persistently 
for  Hen.  At  such  times  he  would  go  in  and  sit  down 
by  the  bedside,  but  she  never  seemed  to  recognise  him. 

When  at  last  she  was  able  to  be  up,  she  was  but  the 
shadow  of  her  former  self.  And  as  the  lazy  summer 
wore  on,  she  did  not  seem  to  get  much  stronger.  She 
was  very  poor.  Her  hands  were  very  white,  and  so 
thin  that  one  could  almost  see  through  them.  Her  face 
was  pale,  except  for  the  bright  red  spot  on  either  cheek 
bone.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  unnaturally  bright,  and  the 
look  in  them  came  to  be  terrible.  She  coughed  fre- 
quently. 

We  went  up  to  have  dinner  with  the  Ellangers  one 
Sunday,  and  the  thing  most  noticeable  about  Jane  was 
her  eyes.  They  seemed  unusually  large  and  prominent, 
and  the  look  of  them  haunted  me  for  days  afterward. 
One  day  not  so  long  before,  we  had  been  up  on  the 
hill  cutting  wood.  Old  Pbnto  was  sniffing  importantly 
around,  and  as  father  was  felling  a  big  beech  tree,  he 
noticed  Ponto  right  in  the  path  of  it.  He  called  fran- 
tically to  him ;  and  Ponto  made  a  desperate  effort  to  get 
clear.  But  he  was  too  late.  One  of  the  crooked  limbs 
caught  him  across  the  back.  He  was  not  killed,  but  he 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         295 

dragged  himself  painfully  out  when  father  pried  up  the 
limb.  Very  sadly,  father  sent  me  home  after  the  rifle. 
My  heart  was  just  pounding  in  my  throat  when  I  came 
back  with  it  and  handed  it  to  him.  Then  I  stuck  my 
fingers  in  my  ears  and  ran  aimlessly  up  the  hill.  But  not 
before  I  took  a  last  look  at  Ponto.  He  seemed  to  under- 
stand, for  he  stood  there,  licking  his  lips  and  looking 
patiently  at  father.  And  the  look  that  was  in  his  eyes 
was  the  look  that  was  in  Jane's  eyes. 

In  some  desperate  way,  she  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
avoid  something.  But  there  was  about  her  that  which 
suggested  that  she  understood  that  in  spite  of  all  her 
struggles  the  case  was  hopeless. 

Of  course  she  never  came  to  our  house  any  more. 
She  was  too  weak  to  walk  that  far.  But  mother  often 
went  over  to  spend  the  day  with  her,  and  on  many  such 
occasions  I  accompanied  her. 

In  a  low  voice  Jane  often  talked  about  the  good  times 
she  had  had.  And  at  such  times  the  bright  spots  on  her 
cheeks  were  brighter  still.  Now  and  then  she  would 
refer  to  the  good  times  she  expected  to  have  when  she  got 
over  her  "cold,"  and  always  at  such  times  she  looked 
eagerly  at  mother  as  if  for  confirmation. 

And  it  was  on  just  such  a  lazy  lovely  day  as  late  Au- 
gust often  brought  to  Barren  Rocks,  that  the  word  which 
we  had  been  dreading  finally  came.  Herb  came  down, 
and  in  a  few  broken  sentences  explained  all. 

Very  slowly,  very  deliberately,  father  went  into  the 
little  back  room  for  his  hatchet  and  saw.  Very  slowly 
and  very  deliberately  he  crossed  the  river  and  went  up 
the  hill.  And  I  knew  what  it  meant.  He  was  going  to 
make  Jane's  coffin.  Some  broad,  heavy  oak  planks,  care- 
fully measured  and  carefully  sawed;  some  black  cloth 
tacked  carefully  over  it;  a  few  screws  fitted  in  place — 


296          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

that  was  all.  For  father  was  always  both  undertaker  and 
minister. 

And  it  was  on  another  one  of  those  lazy,  beautiful  days 
that  mother  and  I  set  out  for  the  little  cluster  of  pine 
trees  that  grew  down  below  the  Ellanger  homestead. 
When  we  got  there,  many  people  were  standing  about, 
for  the  funeral  should  be  conducted  there.  Old  Herb 
Ellanger  came  down  before  we  had  been  there  long,  and 
leaning  heavily  on  him  for  support,  was  Sarah,  his  wife. 
He  still  appeared  awkward  and  clumsy,  his  head  drawn 
to  one  side,  but  there  was  that  in  his  attitude  toward 
Sarah  that  was  infinitely  considerate  and  kind.  And  as 
father  talked  in  a  low  voice,  standing  at  the  side  of  the 
rough  casket,  Sarah  Ellanger  stood  like  Rachel  weeping 
for  her  children  and  refusing  to  be  comforted  because 
they  were  not. 

And  then  a  slight  trip  to  the  back  of  the  farm,  where 
were  other  graves  than  the  one  newly  dug ;  a  few  words 
committing  ashes  to  ashes  and  dust  to  dust ;  a  final  pray- 
er— and  it  was  over.  Jane  Ellanger  was  no  more. 

It  was  many  a  day  after  the  funeral  of  Jane  before 
we  settled  back  into  our  accustomed  ways  of  life.  For 
long  a  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  which  could  not 
be  lifted.  Mlother  spent  days  at  a  time  with  Sarah  El- 
langer, trying  to  give  her  what  comfort  she  could.  Hen 
never  said  so  much  as  a  single  word,  but  he  seemed  for 
a  long  time  strangely  silent  and  preoccupied.  It  was  as 
if  his  mind  were  struggling  to  adjust  itself  to  new  con- 
ditions which  he  could  hardly  realise. 

But  it  was  not  long  until  he  began  his  new  school, 
and  his  mind  was  occupied  by  the  unaccustomed  duties. 
He  enjoyed  it  very  much,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
one  after  another  expressed  himself  to  father,  that  Hen 
was  a  great  success  as  a  teacher. 

Along  toward  spring,  father  and  Hen  got  to  taking 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks         297 

long  walks  together,  as  they  had  done  years  before. 
They  were  discussing  Hen's  future,  I  felt  sure,  for 
father  had  his  heart  set  on  Hen's  being  a  doctor.  But 
there  was  one  thing  I  did  not  realise,  and  that  was  that 
now  I  figured  largely  in  their  planning. 

For  some  reason  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  to  think 
that  I  should  grow  up  and  follow  the  same  course  that 
Hen  had  taken.  Barren  Rocks  seemed  completely 
sufficient  for  me,  and  it  never  entered  my  mind  to  plan 
for  anything  which  would  take  me  away.  But  father's 
plans  had  run  far  ahead  of  mine,  and  his  hopes  for  us 
all  were  more  than  we  realised. 

But  if  a  lightning  flash  had  stunned  me  I  could  not 
have  been  more  dumfounded  than  I  was  with  the  infor- 
mation father  finally  imparted  to  me. 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Sistersville  to  school, 
Ben?"  was  the  way  he  began. 

For  a  time  I  was  unable  to  answer.  I  was  wholly  un- 
prepared to  cope  with  the  idea. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  finally  answered. 

"We  have  decided  to  send  you  there  this  fall,"  he 
said. 

I  was  nonplussed.  And  for  many  days  I  could  not 
fully  comprehend  the  meaning  of  his  words.  I  go  away 
from  Barren  Rocks :  Go  off  to  the  Seminary ;  leave  home, 
and  go  among  strangers?  But  finally,  when  by  Hen's 
graphic  descriptions  I  was  enabled  to  realise  more  fully 
what  it  all  meant,  I  was  wholly  delighted.  To  leave 
Barren  Rocks  and  go  out  into  the  world ;  to  get  an  edu- 
cation— and  I  had  been  taught  that  a  good  education 
stood  next  in  importance  to  saving  my  own  soul ;  to  live 
in  a  town  where  there  were  street  lamps,  and  sidewalks, 
and  stores  where  bananas  were  kept  all  winter;  to  go 
where  men  wore  white  collars  every  day — to  do  all 


298 

this,  I  finally  believed,  I  was  privileged  beyond  my 
wildest  dreams. 

Hen  spoke  of  debating  societies.  He  told  me  of  a 
great  debate  over  at  Sistersville,  in  which  he  had  par- 
ticipated. Calhoun  Seminary  had  debated  Wade  Semi- 
nary; there  was  a  great  audience;  judges  waiting  to 
render  decision  as  to  the  winning  side!  My  imagina- 
tion kindled.  I  resolved  fiercely  that  I  should  be  a 
great  debater;  and  perhaps,  when  I  grew  up,  a  crimi- 
nal lawyer.  I  was  not  just  clear  as  to  the  duties  of  a 
criminal  lawyer,  but  the  name  sounded  so  important  that 
I  determined  to  be  one. 

And  he  told  of  awards  for  scholarship;  how  the  best 
scholar  in  the  school  was  always  given  a  medal  at  com- 
mencement; and  I  resolved  to  win  the  medal  or  die. 

Late  in  the  summer  father  and  I  went  to  Flatwoods. 
He  wanted  to  get  me  a  respectable  outfit,  he  said.  And 
he  certainly  did.  He  got  me  a  new  suit  and  an  extra 
pair  of  pants ;  a  new  hat  and  a  cap  and  three  store  shirts, 
and  some  stockings  and  a  pair  of  fine  shoes.  I  had 
never  had  so  many  clothes  in  my  life,  and  the  knowledge 
that  they  were  really  mine  was  very  comforting. 

And  mother  worked  to  get  all  my  things  ready  just  as 
she  had  worked  for  Hen.  She  saw  to  it  that  all  my 
clothes  were  mended,  and  washed  and  ironed.  Every  lit- 
tle thing  was  gone  over  carefully.  And  she  packed  a 
suit  case  for  me  back  in  the  little  storage  room,  only  it 
was  not  the  suit  case  that  Hen  had  used.  He  had  worn 
his  out  with  many  trips,  and  father  had  got  a  new  one 
for  me. 

The  morning  on  which  I  was  to  start  found  us  up 
bright  and  early.  Mother  had  prepared  one  of  her 
famous  breakfasts :  Big  hot  biscuits  baked  with  butter- 
milk, cane  molasses,  eggs  and  bacon.  She  hovered 
around  my  chair,  helping  me  to  everything.  And  she 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          299 

urged  me  to  eat  another  egg  when  I  was  already  full  to 
bursting. 

Hen  went  out  to  saddle  the  horses.  He  came  back 
riding  Old  Bill  and  leading  Bird.  Father  tied  my  suit 
case  firmly  to  the  saddle  horn  and  took  my  hand.  He 
gripped  it  hard,  and  his  eyes  were  very  kind  and  sad. 

"Write  to  us  often,  son,"  he  said. 

Little  Anne  climbed  timidly  down  the  steps  and  held 
out  her  little  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Bennie,"  she  said. 

And  I  was  stricken  with  remorse  for  all  my  angry 
thoughts  concerning  her. 

We  rode  slowly  down  the  road.  The  road  was  damp 
and  dark  with  the  dew,  and  as  the  horses'  feet  struck 
it  the  dust  flew  up  in  little  ragged  balls.  We  got  to  the 
bend,  and  I  looked  back  over  my  shoulder.  Father  was 
standing  at  the  gate.  He  faced  the  east,  and  the  morn-' 
ing  light  fell  strongly  upon  him.  He  was  absolutely  mo- 
tionless; and  his  face  looked  thoughtful,  meditative, 
sad. 

I  looked  about  for  mother.  She  was  not  to  be  seen. 
And  suddenly  I  remembered  where  she  had  stood  on 
that  day  years  ago  when  Hen  had  first  left  home: 
In  my  mind  I  pictured  her  standing  by  the  window, 
holding  back  the  curtain  with  her  hand,  looking  toward 
me. 

I  jerked  my  head  about,  and  rode  on.  In  spite  of  my- 
self my  mind  ran  back  to  that  first  day,  when  I  had  left 
to  take  Hen  to  the  station.  I  recalled  the  pang  of 
jealousy  that  had  shot  through  me,  at  the  attention  he 
was  receiving.  I  remembered  also  that  I  had  wished 
to  be  in  his  place,  and  have  all  the  concern  for  myself. 
But  now  that  our  positions  were  reversed,  I  found  it 
almost  intolerable.  Gladly  would  I  have  given  up  all 
hope  of  an  education,  all  the  excitement  of  Sistersville 


300          The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks 

and  the  unknown  pleasures  that  I  had  anticipated,  if  only 
I  could  have  turned  Bird  around  and  ridden  back  home 
to  stay  there  forever. 

When  we  came  near  the  Evans  home,  I  thought  I  saw 
some  one  standing  out  by  the  road.  When  we  approached 
nearer,  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  It  was  Essie.  Her 
hair  was  done  up  on  her  head  now,  and  her  blue  dress 
came  well  below  her  knees.  I  thought  she  looked  very 
tall  and  straight  and  dainty  as  I  stopped  beside  her. 

"I  have  come  out  to  say  good-bye,  Ben,"  she  said. 

"I'll  be  back  soon,"  I  said,  almost  roughly. 

She  held  out  a  little  square  package. 

"Open  this  when  you  eat  your  lunch,  Ben,"  and  she 
gave  it  to  me. 

"Is  it  something  good — dear?"  I  asked  boldly. 

Again  she  smiled,  as  she  had  one  other  day,  long  be- 
fore. But  this  time  there  was  no  hint  of  anger. 

"Yes — honey.     I  made  it  for  you." 

I  shook  the  bridle  reins  and  started  off  at  a  trot. 

"Don't  forget  to  come  back,  Ben,"  she  called  after  me. 

"Don't  you  fear,"  I  answered  back. 

Hen  was  intending  to  make  the  round  trip  that  day. 
It  would  take  him  far  into  the  night,  but  he  said  he 
would  rather  ride  until  late  than  stay  somewhere  over 
night. 

When  we  stopped  for  lunch  on  a  grassy  knoll  topping 
a  great  mountain,  I  opened  the  package  Essie  had  given 
me.  It  was  a  little  box  filled  with  fudge.  It  was  a  little 
hard,  and  inclined  to  be  brittle,  but  it  was  very  good. 

At  last  we  reached  the  depot.  It  was  a  little  red  build- 
ing, and  stood  well  on  the  outskirts  of  Monroe.  It 
looked  very  lonely  and  deserted.  But  I  looked  with 
wonder  on  the  small  man  in  the  ticket  office,  thinking 
that  his  grasp  of  the  big  outside  world  must  be  very 
complete  indeed. 


The  Manse  at  Barren  Rocks          301 

Hen  untied  my  suit  case  and  set  it  down  on  the  little 
cinder  platform.  He  went  into  the  depot  with  me  to 
get  my  ticket,  and  then,  as  the  train  was  not  due  for  an 
hour,  and  he  wanted  to  make  home  that  night,  he  said  he 
would  start  back  at  once. 

He  untied  the  horses,  let  out  the  stirrups  to  my  saddle, 
and  got  on  Bird.  He  tied  old  Bill's  halter  to  the  saddle 
horn,  and  started  off. 

"Good-bye,  Ben,"  he  called  back,  with  a  broad  grin. 

"Good-bye,"  I  answered,  rather  feebly. 

I  stood  and  watched  him  as  he  jogged  down  the  road. 
Once  when  Bird  broke  into  a  trot  old  Bill  hung  back 
lazily,  and  I  knew  that  the  halter  was  sawing  over  Hen's 
leg.  Down  the  road  they  went,  getting  smaller  and 
smaller,  until  at  last  the  hills  swallowed  them  up. 

I  looked  on  ahead  in  the  direction  they  were  taking. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  mountains  stretched 
themselves  out,  ridge  after  ridge.  And  I  knew  that,  far 
off  over  there,  past  the  ridges  and  across  the  river,  down 
by  the  mouth  of  Little  Creek,  was  the  old  Baptist  Manse. 

I  turned  away  slowly,  my  eyes  filled  with  tears.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  homesick,  and  the 
strange  poignant  emotion  almost  overpowered  me. 

But  in  what  seemed  a  very  short  time,  I  heard  my  train 
whistle  up  the  track.  Soon  the  little  engine  came  puffing 
importantly  around  the  curve.  I  had  never  been  on  board 
a  train  in  my  life,  and  the  excitement  of  the  moment 
blotted  out  all  other  thoughts.  A  brakeman  in  blue  uni- 
form called  out: 

"This  train  for  Hamilton  and  Sistersville.  All 
aboard!" 

Sistersville !  I  heard  him  say  it,  and  my  thoughts  ran 
on  ahead.  Sistersville — the  outside  world — an  educa- 
tion— a  future — and  Margaret!  I  should  soon  be  with 
Margaret.  I  settled  down  in  my  seat  with  a  happy  smile. 


A     000  038  754     8 


